OT: Jane Austen's Wuthering Prejudice Chapter 14 (Warning: contains gratuitous furniture abuse)
Mrs T xx
the same thread as all the previous installments. But here's a link
to the original thread with all the previous chapters on. The link's
a bit temperamental - it seems to come up as "Page cannot be
displayed" at first but then if you click on the refresh button it
comes up fine. Failing that, the rest of the story can easily be found
by searching the RMO archive for "Wuthering Prejudice"
http://groups.google.co.uk/group/rec.music.opera/browse_frm/thread/bb953425027b805e
Apologies again for making you wait nearly 3 months in between
chapters....
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
After running out of the church Miss Fiona wandered through the Welsh
countryside for miles, still in shock from what had happened. What was
to become of her, now that her dream of married bliss with Mr Brinley
had been so cruelly torn away from her? She could not return to
Essexshire and explain the shameful situation to her parents and
sisters. Besides, it would be the first place that Mr Brinley would
look for her. She had very little money but used every last penny to
buy a seat on a passing coach that was departing for England. Three
days later she found herself stranded in a small village somewhere in
the middle of nowhere with no money, no food and worse still - no
makeup. She had gone four whole days without any chocolate and now
felt close to death. Night had fallen and she staggered wearily
through the graveyard towards a small stone church in the hope of
finding refuge for the night therein and maybe just a small bar of
chocolate to prolong her miserable existence.
There were lights burning inside the parsonage and peering through the
window Fiona could see two women having a violent argument about
something. The elder one was shouting and then slapped the younger one
around the face before storming out of the room, her long black hair
flying behind her. Fiona stumbled towards the door but was suddenly
overcome with faintness due to lack of chocolate and sank to her knees
amongst the gravestones beside a statue of a marble angel.
"Merciful God, let me die now!" she cried in despair.
"Aren't you being rather negative?" asked a male voice, "Come,
let me help you"
Looking round, Miss Fiona saw that it wasn't a stone statue at all
but just a rather stiff man with handsome chiselled features and a
thick mane of fair hair which looked positively silver in the
moonlight. He offered her his hand and helped her up from the ground,
putting his arm about her waist and leading her inside the parsonage.
"Thankyou for your kindness, sir" she sighed, sitting upon the
sofa
"You are ill" he remarked, studying her pale face, "Whatever
happened to you that you ended up here in such a condition?"
"Uh....I was on my way to a fancy dress party and I got lost" she
blushed, hastily removing her wedding veil, her diamond tiara, her long
white satin gloves, her white lace garter band and surreptitiously
hiding her bouquet of twenty-four white roses under the sofa cushions.
"I understand," he replied, "My name is Mr Haughtirussky and I
am the vicar here in the parish of Coldan-Horty. You are too ill to
continue your journey tonight - I must insist that you stay here with
my sisters and I until your health improves."
Miss Fiona had really not intended to stay for more than a day or two,
not wishing to impose on Mr Haughtirussky's generous hospitality but
when he discovered that she was a trained governess he begged her to
stay and give French lessons to his two sisters. It was not an easy
task because the eldest sister Amber Georgiana had the most atrociously
bad French pronunciation that Fiona had ever heard and seemed to make
little effort to study or improve herself. Though the younger sister
Annabella had a sweet and agreeable disposition her older sister was
extremely temperamental and was always making scenes, storming out of
rooms when she didn't get her own way or knocking over chairs in a
fit of pique.
Amber was actually married to a handsome foreigner but her husband
seemed to be permanently absent, away working on the Continent - and in
fact nobody in the village of Coldan-Horty had seen the two of them
together in public for nearly five years. Despite this Amber never
tired of telling everyone in the village how happy her marriage was and
that there was no truth whatsoever in any of the rumours that they were
separated.
Miss Fiona quickly settled into her new life and her teaching work
helped take her mind off the pain of her broken heart. She finally
found the courage to write to her sister Donna and confess what had
happened on her disastrous wedding day. Fiona had suddenly realised
with great alarm that she felt a growing attraction to the
devastatingly handsome Mr Haughtirussky. She suspected that he
didn't return her feelings because he was always so cold and reserved
around her and she had never even seen him smile. Though he was
always polite she sensed that he didn't really want to talk to her
and that her company was irksome to him. The following week Miss
Fiona received the long-awaited letter from her sister.
"We are so relieved you are well" Donna wrote, "We have been so
terribly worried about you. Mr Brinley came here looking for you -
the poor man was in a dreadful state and when he discovered that you
weren't here he went into a furious rant that lasted about fifty
minutes - but it was generally along the lines that the whole world
should fall into ruins, that he was the most wretched of all living
beings and that the only thing he wanted now was the end. Then he
crossed over to the other side of the drawing room, picked up the
leather sofa and violently threw it over onto its side before making a
rather dramatic exit straight down the middle of the road. Mr Placy
since reported that his friend returned to Faenolfield Hall in a sulk,
smashed up every piece of furniture he could find and then stacked up
the pieces of broken chairs and tables in huge piles around the hall -
blocking all the fire exits. Apparently he's become a total recluse
and never leaves the hall, apart from Tuesday mornings when he plays
golf. Naturally he shall never discover your whereabouts from me but I
do feel sorry for poor Mr Brinley and am worried in case he might do
something rash.
You no doubt read in the newspapers about the terrible stabbing at
Sherry's birthday party? The good news is that Mr Pinhead has now
been committed to a lunatic asylum - the Romford Mental Ospital.
Naturally Sherry is very relieved because the R.M.O is the most secure
psychiatric institution in the country and no patient has ever managed
to escape from it. During the trial the judge ruled that he was a very
sick and disturbed man and needed to be locked up for his own
protection as well as the safety of others. Sherry is now safe from
her obsessed stalker and is really looking forward to starting her new
job as a singer on the five star luxury cruise ship MS Europa next
month. The bad news is that Andrea Senzatalento will be singing again
by Christmas. He has almost made a full recovery and is now residing
here in Essexshire, being looked after by his most devoted fan Mr
Goldman from the pie shop.
I'm afraid I have yet more bad news for you. Our reckless sister
Serafina has disgraced the family by running away with Lieutenant
Barkingside. We hoped she was planning to elope with him but she told
me once that she thought marriage was an outdated institution invented
by male chauvinists in order to keep women in domestic slavery and
deprive them of their rights. Personally I feel that Lieutenant
Barkingside is greatly to blame in this matter - the man was always
removing his shirt in public and now we see the tragic consequences.
Father has gone to London to search for them - he hopes that a large
bribe will persuade them to get lawfully wedded before the scandal gets
out and ruins any chance of the rest of us finding respectable
husbands. I will write to you at once if there are any further
developments but I am not hopeful. Your dear sister Donna."
(To be continued - )
Mrs T xx
Silverfin
And I like the bit about Serafina & Lt. Barkingside...
Silverfin
McGonnigal
machine gun and a chainsaw an interrupts Katherine Jenkins' concert .
Does Sr Pineiro pine away for his beloved Sherry Strudeltops?
La Donna Mobile
--
http://www.madmusingsof.me.uk/weblog/
http://www.geraldine-curtis.me.uk/photoblog/
Mrs T xx
Placy???
Every major character in this novel is either going to get married off
or get killed off - it's your choice.
Unless you would prefer Miss Donna to marry Signor Senzatalento and Mr
Placy to elope with Fraulein Varbling-Barbi ???
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile
would like either a very smutty elopement with Mr Placy or else to die
operatically in his arms in an operatic-type way, and then she wouldn't
be in any position to know who he would be going off with, just as long
as she remembers to give him her picture to give to his future love so
that she can pray for her
But she doesn't want to die of consumption. She knows a very good
doctor in Grim-Up North
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile wrote:
> > Miss Donna has no desire to be dressed in a frock made of meringue. She
> would like either a very smutty elopement with Mr Placy or else to die
> operatically in his arms in an operatic-type way
What happened to the whole tropical beach wedding accompanied by
symphony orchestra idea???
The MS Europa is sailing for the Caribbean after all
Mrs T xx
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile wrote:
> > Miss Donna has no desire to be dressed in a frock made of meringue.
Actually, upon further consideration I still haven't forgiven you for
cruelly depriving poor Fiona of the wedding she deserved with MS Europa
employee Brian Taffy in the last chapter of your very smutty "Mystery
and Mayhem" story.
Now would be the perfect chance to get my revenge by giving Miss Donna
the biggest and most over-the-top white wedding in history, complete
with amazing meringue-like dress, ten bridesmaids and Andrea
Senzatalento singing "Mistletoe and wine" accompanied by harpsichord
and bagpipes during the signing of the register.
But don't worry, in case Signor Senzatalento meets with a nasty
accident (or six) before the end of the story then you can have
Fraulein Varbling-Barbi singing "Con te partiro" at the wedding
instead.
Mrs T xx
alanwa...@aol.com
What a wonderful essay, full of imagination. I am going to give you
9/10 for it.
Two small points stopped you getting the full 10/10. The MS Europa
would, of course, have been the SS Europa.
If she had very little money when she boarded the coach she would have
added to her degradation - considering her social status - by probably
having to take an outside seat which was usually sixpence - inside
seats were usually a florin per 20 miles. I hope she wrapped up warm -
there are several authenticated accounts of "outside" passengers
freezing to death during the journey.
I will put you on the list for a free copy of my completed but not yet
published "Stage Coaches in England and Ireland."
As a useless bit of trivia does anyone happen to know when the last
regular stagecoach service in England ceased?
With many thanks for a cleverly written and most entertaining post.
Kind regards,
Alan M. Watkins
alanwa...@aol.com
PS: the last stage coach service, perchance, passed through Essexshire
and quite close to your locale:):)
Silverfin
principles, she's likely to insist on a registry office job.
Or maybe Russian Orthodox, if there's a chance of a choir full of basso
profundos.
alanwa...@aol.com
Silverfin wrote:
> And if you're considering forcing Ms Serafina into marriage against her
> principles, she's likely to insist on a registry office job.
> Or maybe Russian Orthodox, if there's a chance of a choir full of basso
> profundos.
>
D, C or Bflat BELOW the bass clef.
Wake up at the back there:):)
They may be around in Barkingside but I doubt it. The same probably
goes for Chadwell Heath.
Silverfin
alanwa...@aol.com wrote:
> Silverfin wrote:
> > And if you're considering forcing Ms Serafina into marriage against her
> > principles, she's likely to insist on a registry office job.
> > Or maybe Russian Orthodox, if there's a chance of a choir full of basso
> > profundos.
> >
> Oh, for goodness sake basso PROFONDO not Profundo.
Both spellings are used frequently; however, having looked it up I have
now found out that one is correct and the other not.
> D, C or Bflat BELOW the bass clef.
I meant singers, rather than the range of notes.
Is it not ok to describe a singer as 'a BP'?
Or Ottavist? But that's the voice part rather than the voice type - or
not?
Damn terminology.
Stick to: ...a choir with lots of lovely basses.
> Wake up at the back there:):)
>
> They may be around in Barkingside but I doubt it. The same probably
> goes for Chadwell Heath.
Sadly I am not well acquainted with Barkingside.
You said some time back that they can be found in London, though -
something I intend to follow up at some point...
Silverfin
Mrs T xx
alanwa...@aol.com wrote:
> >
> Two small points stopped you getting the full 10/10. The MS Europa
> would, of course, have been the SS Europa.
Thanks for the correction, sir. Mind you, it's not as bad as the
really glaring mistake I made in an earlier chapter where I had our
heroine Fiona attempting to put out a fire by throwing white wine on
it.
>
> If she had very little money when she boarded the coach she would have
> added to her degradation - considering her social status - by probably
> having to take an outside seat which was usually sixpence - inside
> seats were usually a florin per 20 miles. I hope she wrapped up warm -
> there are several authenticated accounts of "outside" passengers
> freezing to death during the journey.
>
I'm afraid she wasn't wrapped up warm at all.....she was only wearing a
skimpy short-sleeved low-cut wedding dress. Why do you think she
became ill? Unfortunately when a girl's wedding is cancelled at the
altar because her bridegroom is secretly married to a madwoman then
packing some sensible warm clothes is probably the last thing on her
mind.
I speak from experience, as a few years ago my own on-stage wedding was
rudely interrupted and ruined by none other than a certain
Bocelli-loving baritone who posts on RMO.
> With many thanks for a cleverly written and most entertaining post.
>
I do my best. Hopefully should get the next chapter written over the
weekend.......
By the way, saw the Royal Ballet do R&J tonight and the orchestra were
bloody good - lots of nice dramatic timpani in the funeral scene.
Was crying my eyes out so much I could barely see the dancers by the
end of it - the music is just so heart-rendingly beautiful. Haven't
been this upset inside the ROH since seeing Dmitri in that black wig.
:-)
Mrs T xx
REG
"Silverfin" <silve...@googlemail.com> wrote in message
news:1144698398.1...@t31g2000cwb.googlegroups.com...
REG
O'tearusi (the k being silent?)
<alanwa...@aol.com> wrote in message
news:1144694538.9...@z34g2000cwc.googlegroups.com...
alanwa...@aol.com
> By the way, saw the Royal Ballet do R&J tonight and the orchestra were
> bloody good - lots of nice dramatic timpani in the funeral scene.
> Was crying my eyes out so much I could barely see the dancers by the
> end of it - the music is just so heart-rendingly beautiful. Haven't
> been this upset inside the ROH since seeing Dmitri in that black wig.
> :-)
>
> Mrs T xx
Probably the greatest ballet score ever written or so some think,
including me.
Marvellous, inventive score to play. Early on includes chords for the
timpani (a roll played over two drums tuned to different notes), not at
all usual.
The music, as you noted, is very powerful. Glad you *enjoyed* it.
Mrs T xx
Christmas was approaching in the village of Coldan-Horty but Mr
Haughtirussky was extremely stressed out and at his wits' end over
the parish nativity play which was to be performed in the church hall
that coming Sunday. Miss Fiona did her best to assist him but it just
seemed that everything was going disastrously wrong with it. Miss
Amber Georgiana was still furiously jealous that her younger and far
prettier sister Annabella had been cast as the Virgin Mary while she
had been relegated to the secondary role of the Angel Gabriel. Miss
Amber had refused point blank to wear a blonde wig for the play and was
threatening not to take part at all unless the wig went and she was
guaranteed top billing instead of Annabella.
Unfortunately Mr Haughtirussky had realised far too late that he had
made a mistake of catastrophic proportions in allowing the nativity
play to be directed by a Spanish waiter from the village;- a young man
named Asicko Biastardo who had some rather unusual ideas about the
production. The actors playing the shepherds had all effectively gone
on strike and were refusing to perform in protest at the blasphemous
changes which the director had made to the classic story of the
nativity. Senor Biastardo had argued that it was too boring and
conventional to show the shepherds abiding in the fields, keeping watch
over their flocks by night. Instead he had controversially decided to
set the entire scene inside a public lavatory, with the shepherds doing
unspeakably shocking things to each other and their sheep. The
director explained that it was necessary to show Satan's evil
influence in the world before Jesus is born to lead the sinners into
the light.
Mr Haughtirussky was livid with rage after watching the dress rehearsal
for the first time and immediately demanded that Asicko Biastardo make
some drastic changes to his somewhat questionable production concept.
The drunken orgy at Herod's palace definitely had to go, as did the
lesbian angels and the drug-addicted transvestite innkeeper who
provided shelter for Mary and Joseph in a brothel instead of a stable.
Mr Haughtirussky insisted that the baby Jesus be traditionally wrapped
in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger, rather than shoved into a
black plastic dustbin liner and dumped in a grotty old sink. He was
also extremely unhappy about St Joseph appearing naked for most of the
play and felt that the intimate nature of his love scenes with Mary was
totally inappropriate for family viewing. Naturally it went without
saying that they completely cut the shocking scene in which the three
wise men got very drunk and violated a harlot that they picked up on
the road to Bethlehem.
The actor playing Joseph was Mr Haughtirussky's best friend - a
young foreigner with curly black hair named Orlando Ibrowzgòn. To
his dismay the entire village was rife with gossip concerning Orlando
and Mr Haughtirussky's beautiful sister Annabella. In fact the
general consensus was that Annabella and Orlando looked far too
convincing playing on-stage lovers Mary and Joseph and that it
couldn't just be acting. Naturally Orlando had assured his friend of
his innocence, but that together with the whole unpleasant situation of
the nativity play distressed Mr Haughtirussky deeply and he had a
premonition that it was a disaster waiting to happen.
Meanwhile, back in Essexshire Miss Donna was pining away from boredom
and lack of company. The Jay-Bennet family had been plunged into
disgrace thanks to Miss Serafina's scandalous disappearance with the
frequently shirtless Lieutenant Barkingside and as a result they had
little choice but to avoid making an appearance at any public
gathering. They did not even dare to attend any dances at the local
assembly rooms which was a terrible hardship for poor Mr Jay-Bennet who
really loved balls, despite the fact that he was almost forty now.
The Jay-Bennets received hardly any visitors any more and even their
neighbours and friends kept their distance. Mr Placy had been nowhere
near the house since the news had got out and Miss Donna realised sadly
that he was shunning her and no longer wished to have anything to do
with her or her family in their presence disgrace.
As she sat gazing sadly out of the library window she was surprised and
shocked to see Mr Placy ride up the driveway on a black horse.
Whatever could he want from her, she wondered - blushing at the memory
of the marriage proposal she had so scornfully refused. She composed
herself as best she could as the door opened and Mr Placy entered and
greeted her with a polite bow.
"Mr Placy," she said with a small curtsy
"Miss Jay-Bennet," he began, "I trust your parents are in good
health?"
"I thank you, sir" she replied, "As well as can be expected
under the circumstances."
"You are probably wondering as to the purpose of my visit" he
continued, nervously fondling his chest hair.
"Indeed, sir"
"I come to take my leave of you" he stated bluntly, "Tomorrow I
depart for North Wales to visit my unfortunate friend Mr Brinley."
"How very thoughtful of you" she remarked.
"It was Signor Senzatalento's idea actually. He thought his
singing might cheer Mr Brinley up, so we decided to travel to
Faenolfield Hall together. Naturally his devoted fan Mr Goldman from
the pie shop will also be accompanying us. I shall stay with Mr
Brinley until I am convinced he is fully recovered and then book
passage on a ship to America to start a new life in a country where it
doesn't rain so much."
"Then you have no intention of ever returning to Essexshire?" she
asked
"I have not"
Miss Donna turned pale at this distressing news but did her best to
retain her composure.
"We shall indeed be sorry to see you go" she replied sadly,
"Please pass on our best regards to poor Mr Brinley and tell him we
hope he will feel better soon."
"Somehow I think the last thing Mr Brinley needs is best regards
from *your* family," he answered with angry sarcasm, "considering
it was your sister who upset him so much in the first place"
"How dare you try to put the blame onto Miss Fiona!" she
protested, "She was entirely innocent in this matter and had no idea
that Mr Brinley was already secretly married to a homicidal madwoman
who was locked in the attic."
"That may be," he conceded bitterly, "but you have certainly not
helped by refusing to disclose your sister's whereabouts and thus
exacerbating the whole wretched situation."
"I think it best you should leave now, Mr Placy," she fumed,
barely able to hide her anger, "I wish you a pleasant trip to North
Wales and sincerely hope from the bottom of my heart that Signor
Senzatalento sings to you for the entire journey."
Mr Placy went to leave the room but stopped at the threshold of the
door and turned back to face Miss Donna one last time.
"We shall not meet again" he stated coldly, "Farewell, Miss
Jay-Bennet"
***
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile
the Caribbean...
La Donna Mobile
Fabulous! To whom could you be referring!
> The actor playing Joseph was Mr Haughtirussky's best friend - a
> young foreigner with curly black hair named Orlando Ibrowzgňn.
Ooh, fancy that he makes an appearance...
Oh for heavens' sake, you don't think either of them would hang around
being so chaste for so long. Miss Donna would sacrifice everything, even
her reputation, for a few minutes passion with Mr P (whilst sincerely
believing it would be more than just a few minutes....)
La Donna Mobile
Well, I remember seeing one in August 1984 on the A56. Perhaps not
regular, but I saw it and have photos to prove it.
>
> With many thanks for a cleverly written and most entertaining post.
>
> Kind regards,
> Alan M. Watkins
>
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile wrote:
> > >
> Oh for heavens' sake, you don't think either of them would hang around
> being so chaste for so long. Miss Donna would sacrifice everything, even
> her reputation, for a few minutes passion with Mr P (whilst sincerely
> believing it would be more than just a few minutes....)
>
Sorry, but you need to remember that Miss Austen's works are smut-free
zones.
If Miss Donna wants a few minutes of passion with Mr Placy then she
should stop turning down his marriage proposals.
There are still a few more chapters to go and who knows what will
happen? (Well, I know but the rest of you will all have to wait)
Mrs T xx
alanwa...@aol.com
Very good! Meanwhile down in North Wales in Ye Olde Romantic Pit
Orchestra better known as The Age Of The Orchestra Waiting To Be
Enlightened things were pretty much carrying on for what passes as
normal then, as now.
"We've a cut in 5, Measures 26-45. There's a key change in 112 which
isn't shown, 6 after G I think and we start 21 from Measure 45. We are
not taking the repeat.
"There's a probable cut in the ballet sequence No 27 from Measures 9-24
but that has not been decided yet so we'll play it but it may be cut.
484-485 are definitely out.
"And, timps, as soft as you like at the start of the Holst."
"Anyway, let's go through it. In No 3 by the way I'm going to beat in
2 okay?"
"Right here we go......"
Look forward to the next chapter.
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile wrote:
> > > The actor playing Joseph was Mr Haughtirussky's best friend - a
>
>
> Ooh, fancy that he makes an appearance...
Oops.....actually his name should be spelled "Ibrowzgón". I got the
accent the wrong way round
Mrs T xx
alanwa...@aol.com
La Donna Mobile wrote:
> Mrs T xx wrote:
> > La Donna Mobile wrote:
> >
> >>>Miss Donna has no desire to be dressed in a frock made of meringue. She
> >>
> >>would like either a very smutty elopement with Mr Placy or else to die
> >>operatically in his arms in an operatic-type way
> >
> >
> > What happened to the whole tropical beach wedding accompanied by
> > symphony orchestra idea???
> >
> > The MS Europa is sailing for the Caribbean after all
> >
> > Mrs T xx
> >
> Last time Miss D. looked at an Atlas, Acapulco was on the Pacific, not
> the Caribbean...
>
board, of sorts. As they do, even in 2006.
Mrs T xx
> > Last time Miss D. looked at an Atlas, Acapulco was on the Pacific, not
> > the Caribbean...
> >
Ah, I'm afraid I only got a grade B for my A level geography. Can
someone who knows about such things please kindly suggest a sensible
route for this cruise ship to take, including which oceans are
involved. It will be departing from Tilbury or Dagenham Docks and
going to America via a few picturesque tropical islands. Due to plot
reasons I need New York to be on the scheduled list of stops, as there
will be several opera singers on board who need to get to the Met.
> And it's still the SS Europa and might probably have had a band on
> board, of sorts. As they do, even in 2006.
>
OK, ok......I'll change the name to the SS Europa. Even though I don't
know what SS actually stands for. Something "ship" ?? I'll even
ensure that the band gets a mention but I'm afraid I can't guarantee
that the timpanist won't have to play a little bit of Verdi - sorry.
Mrs T xx
alanwa...@aol.com
>
> OK, ok......I'll change the name to the SS Europa. Even though I don't
> know what SS actually stands for. Something "ship" ?? I'll even
> ensure that the band gets a mention but I'm afraid I can't guarantee
> that the timpanist won't have to play a little bit of Verdi - sorry.
>
> Mrs T xx
SS: Steam Ship, those funny engines using coal which revolutionised
long distance travel whether by sea or the new fangled railway. You
don't need to worry about the timpanist - they rarely had percussion on
cruise ship bands in those times.
Keep going. It's very good.
alanwa...@aol.com
The last regular stage coach service in England was indeed through
Essexshire. It was Hurd's Coach from the Six Bells Bow to Norwich
Market Place and it ceased in Autumn 1904 when they lost the Royal Mail
contract to Chelmsford and Colchester.
One coach left either end each day at 8.15 a.m. arriving about 12 hours
later - 14 changes of horses on the way, the first out of London at
Gants Hill, the second at Brook Street, Brentwood, at the foot of the
hill.
Six horse team known not as horses but as cattle - average life
expectancy of a coach horse no more than six years. They could do a
team change in six minutes which is going some.
Sunk by the Eastern Counties Railway, later the Great Eastern, who
could do the same journey in well under three hours.
On a slightly more musical note anyone know the purpose of the Post
Horn carried on the Royal Mail coaches? Still turns up on Christmas
Cards sometimes, I believe...........
Mrs T xx
alanwa...@aol.com wrote:
> > On a slightly more musical note anyone know the purpose of the Post
> Horn carried on the Royal Mail coaches?
To warn cyclists to get the hell out of the way??
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile
> La Donna Mobile wrote:
>
>>Oh for heavens' sake, you don't think either of them would hang around
>>being so chaste for so long. Miss Donna would sacrifice everything, even
>>her reputation, for a few minutes passion with Mr P (whilst sincerely
>>believing it would be more than just a few minutes....)
>>
>
>
> Sorry, but you need to remember that Miss Austen's works are smut-free
> zones.
Well then you've obviously never encountered the Literatura Rara box set
of Austen - the Smut Years.
La Donna Mobile
> alanwa...@aol.com wrote:
>
>>>>>The MS Europa is sailing for the Caribbean after all
>>>>
>
>>>Last time Miss D. looked at an Atlas, Acapulco was on the Pacific, not
>>>the Caribbean...
>>>
>
>
> Ah, I'm afraid I only got a grade B for my A level geography.
As I explained to someone else yesterday I didn't even get O-Level
Geography. And this was because I chose not to take it, not because I
failed it.
Can
> someone who knows about such things please kindly suggest a sensible
> route for this cruise ship to take, including which oceans are
> involved.
Has the Panama canal been opened yet?
It will be departing from Tilbury or Dagenham Docks and
> going to America via a few picturesque tropical islands. Due to plot
> reasons I need New York to be on the scheduled list of stops, as there
> will be several opera singers on board who need to get to the Met.
>
>
>
>>And it's still the SS Europa and might probably have had a band on
>>board, of sorts. As they do, even in 2006.
>>
>
>
> OK, ok......I'll change the name to the SS Europa. Even though I don't
> know what SS actually stands for. Something "ship" ?? I'll even
> ensure that the band gets a mention but I'm afraid I can't guarantee
> that the timpanist won't have to play a little bit of Verdi - sorry.
>
> Mrs T xx
>
La Donna Mobile
Going completely off off-topic, back in December 99 BBC-online ran a
poll on the greatest invention of that millennium that was closing. The
overall winner came out as the computer which I thought was a perverse
and ignorant choice, having myself voted for the steam engine. Without
the steam engine, no computer.
Plus, and from my POV, more importantly, the steam engine utterly
transformed the whole way society was structured, from a predominantly
agrarian society with cottage industries to one where urban living
prevailed to service the large factories. Add in factors such as
migration, the change in family structures, gender roles, and, in
parallel, the introduction of large civil engineering projects on a
major scale. Also responsible for the expanse of Empire, the involvement
of civilians in international warfare.
All the computer has done is simplify and expand already existing
processes eg processing information, letter writing, going to a library,
listening to recorded sounds
/hobby horse.
alanwa...@aol.com
No. The Royal Mail coaches obviously had the Royal Warrant. In those
days most roads in Britain were toll roads which anything "Royal" was
exempt from paying.
So about a quarter to half a mile from any toll, the Guard blew the
post horn to let the tollkeeper know they were approaching and to have
the gates open for them to go straight through.
Because they were carrying valuables the Mail coaches were prone to
being attacked and stopped at a toll would be a good opportunity for
such. The Royal Mail guard also carried a brace of pistols which they
usually forget to show in the Christmas scenes:):)
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile wrote:
>>
> > Has the Panama canal been opened yet?
>
Damn. Just looked at a map of North & South America and realise
there's going to be a big problem with the SS Europa getting from the
Caribbean to Acapulco due to a little bit of Mexico being in the way.
I assume the Panama canal is somewhere near Panama city? But I
strongly suspect it hadn't been built in Jane Austen's times.
This cruise itinerary is looking increasingly unrealistic, considering
I need the ship to go from England to New York via Acapulco and the
Caribbean. Think I'll just have to take some extreme poetic license
with the geography of America and hope nobody notices.......
Anybody know roughly how long it would take to sail from England to the
Caribbean in the early 19th century? 3 weeks, 3 months???
Mrs T xx
alanwa...@aol.com
biggest single revolution of the last few centuries. The influence
this had on communities large and small is very clearly depicted in
such novels as Middlemarch.
Silverfin
alanwa...@aol.com wrote:
> On a slightly more musical note anyone know the purpose of the Post
> Horn carried on the Royal Mail coaches? Still turns up on Christmas
> Cards sometimes, I believe...........
>
> Kind regards,
> Alan M. Watkins
So people could get excited about maybe receiving a letter.
Von der Straße her ein Post-horn klingt.
Was hattes, daß es so hoch aufspringt, mein Herz? (...mein Herz, mein
Herz...)
[strange change from major to minor]
Die Post bringt keinen Brief für dich:
Was drängst du denn so wunderlich, mein Herz? (...mein Herz, mein
Herz...)
I love that song.
Silverfin
Mrs T xx
Silverfin wrote:
> >
> Von der Straße her ein Post-horn klingt.
> Was hattes, daß es so hoch aufspringt, mein Herz? (...mein Herz, mein
> Herz...)
>
> [strange change from major to minor]
>
> Die Post bringt keinen Brief für dich:
> Was drängst du denn so wunderlich, mein Herz? (...mein Herz, mein
> Herz...)
>
>
> I love that song.
>
That's way too intellectual for me. Personally I prefer
Il postino Pat, il postino Pat
Il postino Pat e il suo gatto nero e bianco
Mrs T xx
Mrs Jones
unravels and to discover the fates of Miss Fiona ,Miss Donna and poor,
abandoned Mr Brinley.( Not to mention how the awful Signor Senzatalento
finally meets his end). Lack of smut not a worry to me- it's far
better left to the imagination and there is nothing like a good bit of
furniture bashing and rolling around on the floor for expressing pent
up feeling.
Mrs J xx
Silverfin
Would have thought you'd know it - lyrics are by some German bloke
whose day job was producing low-calorie cold rice pudding in plastic
tubs.
Silverfin
McGonnigal
McG
Mrs T xx
McGonnigal wrote:
> What, you mean there was a bloke called SKI?
>
> McG
I think she means Herr Muller-Leit ???
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile
I think the Panama Canal came after the Suez Canal, and Aida is (wrongly
) attributed to have been commissioned for the opening of Suez, and
Verdi came after Austen, so I guess that the Panama canal is not open
yet. Damn, how is Miss Donna going to get to Acapulco?
I expect the answer to your last question will lie in a Maritime Museum.
Liverpool for sure, but probably in Greenwich, too. There's a nice trip
for you on a Bank Holiday weekend ;-)
La Donna Mobile
starring a couple of opera singers with names remarkably similar to Mr
Placy and Orlando Ibrowzgón.
But I don't suppose Los Angeles exists yet.
Mrs T xx
It was Christmas Eve and Miss Fiona was lying in bed, unable to sleep.
Her emotions were in turmoil, for although she still loved Mr Brinley
dearly it was impossible for her to be with him - unless his mad
locked-in-the-attic wife were somehow to meet with a very unfortunate
but terribly convenient fatal accident. Yet she was tormented by the
suspicion that it might be her destiny to marry Mr Haughtirussky, and
it had been no mere coincidence that she had chosen to collapse on his
doorstep that fateful night.
Suddenly she was disturbed from her reflections by the sound of angry
shouting coming from Miss Annabella's bedchamber next door. There
was the unmistakable sound of smashing wood and it seemed as if someone
had broken open the door and was now violently throwing furniture
around the room. Two of the voices were male and Miss Fiona was
certain that she heard Mr Haughtirussky shouting non-stop for three
whole minutes without taking a breath.
She rushed to the window and was just in time to see a young man with
black curly hair and extremely thick eyebrows clamber over the balcony
and jump into the garden below, smashing several pots of geraniums as
he landed. Mr Haughtirussky was only moments behind him and vaulted
fearlessly over the balcony in pursuit. Miss Fiona hurried next door
and found Miss Annabella sitting on the bed, sobbing pitifully.
"I cannot bear to look" she wept, "I know that my brother will
kill Orlando and I'm powerless to prevent it."
In the moonlit garden below Miss Fiona could see Mr Haughtirussky and
Mr Ibrowzgón embroiled in a furious fight. Mr Haughtirussky had
punched his former best friend so violently in the face that he had
lost his balance and fallen with a loud splash into the shallow pond at
the end of the garden, dragging Mr Haughtirussky into the water with
him. Miss Fiona and Miss Annabella watched transfixed as the two men
wrestled together in the pond, the water turning their white flouncy
shirts transparent and causing their already tight breeches to cling
even more closely to their figures.
Miss Fiona put on a dressing gown before hurrying down the staircase
towards the hall. But as she reached the foot of the stairs the front
door opened and Mr Haughtirussky stormed in looking all dishevelled,
his white shirt soaking wet and unbuttoned halfway down his chest. He
didn't even see Fiona but walked straight into his study with
forceful determination, fetched a large pistol from the shelf above the
mantelpiece and proceeded to load it.
"My God!" gasped Fiona, horrified "You cannot mean to fight a
duel?"
"Why ever not?" he asked coldly
"Well, for a start you are a vicar - and killing your best friend
would hardly be setting a good example of Christian forgiveness.
Besides, you cannot fight a duel on Christmas morning - on such a
holy day when you have so many responsibilities towards your
parishioners"
"Your concern does you credit," he answered, "But I assure you
that I will have plenty of time to kill my best friend, have my
breakfast and open all my presents before the nine o'clock church
service. Did you remember to take the turkey out of the freezer, by
the way?"
"You have no heart!" she protested, bursting into tears and
running from the room.
She left the vicarage and went to sit in the back pew of the church
next door, praying fervently that God would spare Mr Haughtirussky's
life and somehow prevent this terrible duel from taking place. She
must have sat there for hours but was suddenly startled to hear the
bells chiming six o'clock. Getting up she rushed out of the church
and saw Mr Haughtirussky saddling his horse and preparing to depart.
"Stop!" she called out, "Please - I beg you, do not do this! If
anything were to happen to you then I could not bear it."
Mr Haughtirussky looked at her fondly and for the first time she
actually saw him smile.
"I have no intention of dying this morning," he told her
earnestly, "but just in case I do, then take this kiss to remember me
by."
Before Miss Fiona could even reply he had pulled her against his chest
and was kissing her with surprising passion for one usually so cold and
reserved. And then without saying another word he jumped on his horse
and rode away swiftly. Fiona's head was spinning from this
unexpected development and she knew not what to do. Fortunately at
that moment Miss Annabella came out of the house,
"Quickly" she called, "we have to stop this before someone gets
killed. Fetch the other horse from the stable."
"But we do not know where the duel is taking place"
"It will be down by the crossroads - where the road out of the
village crosses over the Essexshire to North Wales highway. Duels are
always fought there."
Miss Annabella and Miss Fiona rode as fast as they could and prayed
they would not arrive too late. After ten minutes they came to a
crossroads with a wooden signpost pointing to each of the four
directions. To the south from whence they had just come was marked
"Coldan-Horty", to the east was written "Essexshire", to the
west "Faenolfield Hall" and to the north "Retail Park". The
roads were completely deserted and in a clearing a mere fifty yards
away they saw to their dismay Mr Haughtirussky and Mr Ibrowzgón
standing back to back, about to start the duel. The two women watched
in horror as they each walked ten paces away from their opponent and
turned to fire. Mr Ibrowzgón turned round a fraction of a second
faster and fired first. There was the sound of breaking glass, a
muffled scream and Mr Haughtirussky fell to his knees in the snow. For
a terrible few seconds which seemed an eternity then Fiona thought he
had been fatally wounded. But actually he had just fallen to his
knees to avoid the bullet, which had missed him completely and gone
through the window of a carriage that had just happened to be passing
at that precise moment. Mr Haughtirussky stood up again and with
perfect calmness took aim and shot Mr Ibrowzgon straight between the
eyebrows, killing him instantly.
"Orlando!" screamed Miss Annabella, falling to the ground in a
faint.
Miss Fiona watched in disbelief as Mr Haughtirussky approached them
with a big smile on his face, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
"Thanks for coming to watch, it really meant a lot to me" he
grinned, "And now that this whole unpleasant matter is over and done
with we can all go back to the village and enjoy a lovely family
Christmas"
"Somehow I don't feel like celebrating, and neither does
Annabella"
"Of course, it must have been very distressing for both of you,"
he said, more tactfully, "So let me give you a proper reason to
celebrate. Miss Fiona - will you do me the honour of becoming my
wife?"
Reader, she didn't marry him.
At the very moment when Mr Haughtirussky went down on one knee to make
his proposal it seemed that she suddenly heard a familiar voice calling
out to her from somewhere in the far-off distance:
"Fiona! Fiona! Fiona!"
"I am coming!" she cried out, "Where are you?"
"Hello? I'm right here," replied Mr Haughtirussky, exasperated.
"No, not you" she declared, pushing him away from her and running
back to where the horse was tethered.
"Wait for me!" she called out and rode off swiftly in the
direction of Faenolfield Hall, leaving Mr Haughtirussky standing there
somewhat confused and feeling like a pratt.
****
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Mrs T xx
Don Caballero
"Mrs T xx" <mrs.t...@btinternet.com> wrote in message
news:1144925869.1...@i40g2000cwc.googlegroups.com...
>
> La Donna Mobile wrote:
>>>
>> > Has the Panama canal been opened yet?
>>
>
> Damn. Just looked at a map of North & South America and realise
> there's going to be a big problem with the SS Europa getting from the
> Caribbean to Acapulco due to a little bit of Mexico being in the way.
> I assume the Panama canal is somewhere near Panama city? But I
> strongly suspect it hadn't been built in Jane Austen's times.
>
> This cruise itinerary is looking increasingly unrealistic, considering
> I need the ship to go from England to New York via Acapulco and the
> Caribbean. Think I'll just have to take some extreme poetic license
> with the geography of America and hope nobody notices.......
>
No problem. Just strike Acapulco and substitute Cancun.
> Anybody know roughly how long it would take to sail from England to the
> Caribbean in the early 19th century? 3 weeks, 3 months???
>
Depends on the time of year, the winds and the sailing characteristics of
the boat. Winds which can be quite variable. BTW, did you mean "sail"
literally?
> Mrs T xx
>
La Donna Mobile
> "Mrs T xx" <mrs.t...@btinternet.com> wrote in message
> news:1144925869.1...@i40g2000cwc.googlegroups.com...
>
>>La Donna Mobile wrote:
>>
>>>>Has the Panama canal been opened yet?
>>>
>>Damn. Just looked at a map of North & South America and realise
>>there's going to be a big problem with the SS Europa getting from the
>>Caribbean to Acapulco due to a little bit of Mexico being in the way.
>>I assume the Panama canal is somewhere near Panama city? But I
>>strongly suspect it hadn't been built in Jane Austen's times.
>>
>>This cruise itinerary is looking increasingly unrealistic, considering
>>I need the ship to go from England to New York via Acapulco and the
>>Caribbean. Think I'll just have to take some extreme poetic license
>>with the geography of America and hope nobody notices.......
>>
>
>
> No problem. Just strike Acapulco and substitute Cancun.
Oh dear oh dear oh dear
Don Cabellero, I adore you so much and believe you to be among the top
three intelligent people on this group (and DG scares me, so that leaves
you and MDL) but I'm afraid Miss Donna would not approve of Cancun as a
substitute for Acapulco. Especially not where Mr Placy is involved
>
>
>>Anybody know roughly how long it would take to sail from England to the
>>Caribbean in the early 19th century? 3 weeks, 3 months???
>>
>
>
> Depends on the time of year, the winds and the sailing characteristics of
> the boat. Winds which can be quite variable. BTW, did you mean "sail"
> literally?
>
>
>>Mrs T xx
>>
>
I think she might have got herself caught in the Quagmire of Pedants...!
Don Caballero
"La Donna Mobile" <donnam...@REMOVEbrixton.fsworld.co.uk> wrote in
message news:nJGdnRKWVdykht3Z...@bt.com...
> Don Caballero wrote:
>> "Mrs T xx" <mrs.t...@btinternet.com> wrote in message
>> news:1144925869.1...@i40g2000cwc.googlegroups.com...
>>
>>>La Donna Mobile wrote:
>>>
>>>>>Has the Panama canal been opened yet?
>>>>
>>>Damn. Just looked at a map of North & South America and realise
>>>there's going to be a big problem with the SS Europa getting from the
>>>Caribbean to Acapulco due to a little bit of Mexico being in the way.
>>>I assume the Panama canal is somewhere near Panama city? But I
>>>strongly suspect it hadn't been built in Jane Austen's times.
>>>
>>>This cruise itinerary is looking increasingly unrealistic, considering
>>>I need the ship to go from England to New York via Acapulco and the
>>>Caribbean. Think I'll just have to take some extreme poetic license
>>>with the geography of America and hope nobody notices.......
>>>
>>
>>
>> No problem. Just strike Acapulco and substitute Cancun.
>
> Oh dear oh dear oh dear
>
> Don Cabellero, I adore you so much and believe you to be among the top
> three intelligent people on this group (and DG scares me, so that leaves
> you and MDL) but I'm afraid Miss Donna would not approve of Cancun as a
> substitute for Acapulco. Especially not where Mr Placy is involved
>
Hmm, I see. Well then, may I suggest a rollicky westabout rounding of Cape
Horn during which the merry company are set upon and captured by opera
pirates who bring them in due course to the slave market in Acapulco and
auction them to nefarious figures who turn out to be recruitment scouts for
the major North American opera companies.
> I think she might have got herself caught in the Quagmire of Pedants...! >
I know what you mean. Once, when I was working as a quality control agent
for an Athenian Ecstacy Palace, I narrowly escaped disaster on the rocky
shoals of Syphilis and Gonorrhea. Sea passages are intrinsically parlous.
Back to you, Sweetness.
Don Caballero
McGonnigal
Will Miss Annabella's kiss bring him back to life?
Will Mr Haughtirussky be defrocked and discovered to be a Mafia hitman?
Can Mr Brinley put the pies down for three seconds?
To find out the answers to these questions, and more, tune in to next
week's exciting episode of DICK BARTON, SPECIAL AGENT!!! ....Er....I
think I got a bit mixed up, there.
Mrs T xx
McGonnigal wrote:
> OMG!! Poor Mr Ibrowzgon!
>
> Will Miss Annabella's kiss bring him back to life?
Sorry, but he's definitely as dead as a tenor in a Tchaikovsky opera.
I feel it necessary to warn the readers that I was deadly serious when
I said that all the main characters are either going to get married off
or killed off.
Watch this space. I'm currently sitting here in beautiful Essexshire
with a glass of Frascati and some chocolate, listening to Eugene Onegin
(for the 10th time this week) and writing chapter 17. I did intend to
listen to something more suitable for Easter but unfortunately I just
lent my Parsifal CDs to Silverfin. I'll be good and listen to the
Mascagni tomorrow on Easter Sunday though.
Mrs T xx
P.S: New series of Dr Who starts tonight.....YIPPEEEEEE!!!!!!!!
alanwa...@aol.com
I used to listen to Dick Barton as a child and, by curious coincidence,
recently recorded the signature tune to it: Devil's Gallop by Charles
Williams (real name Izaac Cozerbreit), a prolific composer who had a
big "hit" with The Dream of Olwen.
Devil's Gallop would be entirely apt in this thread I would say: things
could go anywhere.
Mrs T xx
Miss Fiona Jay-Bennet was not the world's best map reader and
unfortunately managed to get hopelessly lost, ending up in Slough a
week later. By the time she had found the correct road back to North
Wales it had taken her almost three weeks on horseback since she left
the village of Coldan-Horty on Christmas morning. She was completely
exhausted but driven on by a premonition that something terrible had
happened and that Mr Brinley needed her.
Eventually she reached the village of Fftotally Llunpronouncable and
knew she was but a mile from Faenolfield Hall and her beloved Mr
Brinley. Night was starting to fall but she knew the way by heart now
and needed no further directions. Spurring on her horse she crossed
over to the other side of the road, crossed over the field, crossed
over the river at the little bridge, galloped down the middle of the
road and came to the gates of Mr Brinley's estate. She was anxious
at the thought of meeting Mr Brinley again but nothing had prepared her
for the shock of what she saw next. The beautiful hall which had once
stood so proudly in the middle of the road had been reduced to a burnt
out shell and the entire east wing had collapsed into a pile of stone
and rubble. The grass around the outside of the house was charred
black from the fire and the place was now a totally deserted ruin.
Fear gripped her heart like an icy hand as she noticed a small wooden
cross marking a grave nearby.
"He cannot be dead!" she wept, "I must find out what terrible
tragedy occurred here and what became of my poor Mr Brinley"
She rode back in the direction of the village and stopped her horse at
the local alehouse. As it was a Friday night then she correctly
predicted that Mr Brinley's young ward Carlotta was certain to be
found therein. Sure enough she found Miss Carlotta sitting in the
corner of the alehouse surrounded by five rugby players and drinking a
Bacardi Breezer.
"Carlotta!" she exclaimed, "I'm so pleased to see you. You
must tell me what happened! Where is Mr Brinley? Please tell me if
he is alive - I beseech you!"
"It's a long story" sighed Miss Carlotta, "If you want to hear
it then I'll need a few more drinks to be getting along with"
"For God's sake - just tell me if he's alive and then I'll
buy you as many drinks as you like!"
"Yes, yes - he's alive," she replied.
Greatly relieved, Miss Fiona went to the bar and brought back a two
litre bottle of Lambrusco and deposited it on the table in front of
Miss Carlotta.
"Now, tell me everything about the fire and exactly what
happened," she pleaded.
"Listen carefully to what I tell you" Carlotta began, "Since you
ran away from him then Mr Brinley has just not been himself. All
alone on his horse, without rest or
repose he galloped all the way to Essexshire in search of you.
Recently he returned home to Faenolfield Hall, smashed up every piece
of furniture in the house and chopped a few trees down for good
measure. Then he bade the servants pile up the broken wood in heaps
around the hall, not caring that he was creating a major fire hazard by
doing so. He just sat there for weeks on end without saying a word,
refusing to go out or receive visitors. I tried to cheer him up by
bringing him some apple pies but he wouldn't even touch them.
About three weeks ago we were surprised to see a carriage appear in the
driveway. We were certainly not expecting any visitors but it stopped
in front of the house and out stepped Mr Placy, Andrea Senzatalento and
a gentleman named Mr Goldman. Mr Placy immediately told me to fetch a
surgeon, as it seemed poor Signor Senzatalento had been the victim of a
failed assassination attempt en route. He explained that shots had
been fired at the carriage and a single bullet had struck Signor
Senzatalento in the back of the shoulder, gone right down through his
ribcage then bounced up to exit just below his throat before finally
turning right and becoming embedded in his arm. They had no idea who
was responsible for this heinous crime but had spotted two young men
acting somewhat suspiciously on a snow-covered grassy knoll at the
time.
Mr Brinley was happy to see his friends and naturally invited them to
stay. We installed Signor Senzatalento into one of the spare bedrooms
and the doctor removed the bullet and dressed his wounds. We all had a
very pleasant evening until Signor Senzatalento made the fatal mistake
of singing something. As soon as Mr Brinley's mad wife Ellen heard
the sound of his voice she flew into a violent rage, broke down the
attic door and escaped. She crept into Signor Senzatalento's room,
tipped five gallons of paraffin over the helpless tenor and then threw
a lit match onto the bed before running away laughing. Everyone in the
house heard Signor Senzatalento's screams of agony but fortunately Mr
Goldman was in the room next door and managed to rescue his idol before
he was too badly burned. The two of them escaped up onto the roof into
the fresh air, whereas Mr Brinley, Mr Placy and myself had run down the
stairs to the safety of the front lawn.
We could see Signor Senzatalento and Mr Goldman standing on the
battlements of the roof, believing themselves safe. By now the entire
house had caught fire and the flames were raging, fuelled by all the
broken furniture which Mr Brinley had so carelessly left piled up
around the hall. Suddenly we saw mad Mrs Brinley appear on the other
side of the roof. We shouted out "Behind you!" and tried
desperately to warn them but it was too late. Signor Senzatalento was
too weak and badly injured to defend himself and Mrs Brinley now had
her hands in a vice-like grip around his neck, trying her very best to
strangle him. Mr Goldman wanted to intervene to save his friend but
the two of them were struggling too dangerously close to the edge of
the roof and he could not risk it. Mrs Brinley was shouting that
Signor Senzatalento was the Antichrist and she needed to save the world
from the curse of his singing. Suddenly with a final supreme effort
she kicked the unfortunate tenor in the groin and pushed him right over
the edge of the roof, from whence he plummeted screaming towards the
ground. At that moment four officers from the local constabulary
appeared on the rooftop, armed with muskets.
"That woman just pushed Andrea Senzatalento off the roof!" shouted
Mr Goldman, furiously pointing her out to the police, "Don't let
her escape - she must pay dearly for his life!"
"Am I bothered?" she asked, smiling in triumph, "O Andrea, we
meet before God!"
We watched in horror as Mrs Brinley leaped off the roof and plunged
fifty feet to her death on the flagstones below. Signor Senzatalento
had actually been incredibly lucky and landed in a huge heap of sheep
manure which broke his fall and miraculously allowed him to survive
with only twenty-seven broken bones and some pretty nasty second degree
burns.
The entire house burned down and nothing could be saved from it. Poor
Mr Brinley lost his home, his mad wife, all his money -
everything."
Miss Fiona sat in silence until Miss Carlotta had finished her
narrative, too shocked and unable to take it all in.
"How terrible," she finally said, "But tell me - where is poor
Mr Brinley now? How is he managing to survive with no money and
nowhere to live?"
"He just started an exciting new business venture in partnership
with Mr Goldman. The two of them have opened a pie shop in the village
- it seems to be doing very well so far"
Although it was now nearly ten o'clock at night Miss Fiona found the
lights still burning in the pie shop and saw through the window Mr
Brinley and Mr Goldman hard at work making pies for the next day.
Slowly she pushed the door open and walked inside, the tears flowing
freely down her face. Mr Brinley saw her and in his surprise dropped
the tray of pies onto the floor with a loud clash.
"Whatever is the matter?" Mr Goldman asked him, not yet having
noticed Miss Fiona.
"Of all the pie shops in all the towns in all the world - she
walks into mine!"
*******
Mrs T xx
alanwa...@aol.com
Brava!
Mrs T xx
Miss Fiona and Mr Brinley returned to Essexshire for a quiet and
somewhat low-key wedding in a beautiful little church in Dagenham. Mr
Placy was the best man and Miss Donna the maid of honour, who together
with her other three bridesmaid sisters looked very pretty in pale pink
empire-line gowns. Mr Brinley was quite desolate that the star tenor
Andrea Senzatalento was still not well enough to sing at the ceremony
but Miss Fiona coped with the disappointment remarkably bravely. Her
happiness was further increased when her missing sister Miss Serafina
finally reappeared, now respectably married to the handsome Lieutenant
Barkingside, who caused something of a scandal when he arrived at the
church having accidentally forgotten his shirt. Serafina never
explained why she had suddenly betrayed her feminist principles and
entered into the state of matrimony but Fiona assumed that her father
had probably paid the couple a considerable sum of money as an
incentive.
The happy couple had decided to go to the Caribbean for their honeymoon
and had booked a first class cabin aboard the MS Europa, which had now
suddenly been renamed the SS Europa - the very same cruise ship on
which Miss Sherry would be working as a cabaret singer. The ship
departed from Tilbury Docks and the new Mrs Brinley was pleasantly
surprised to discover that many of her family and acquaintances were
also on board. As well as Miss Sherry, her sister Serafina and
Lieutenant Barkingside were also celebrating their honeymoon and Miss
Donna had joined them too. A less welcome addition to the family party
was their cousin Mr Marshall Allwood. Miss Donna still felt
uncomfortable around him in light of his marriage proposal which she
had turned down the previous year. Mr Allwood seemed equally uneasy in
Miss Donna's presence and nobody could fail to notice that he had no
idea whatsoever of how to act around her, and that his movements seemed
very stilted and wooden.
Mr Placy was also on the list of passengers, as was Andrea
Senzatalento, who badly needed a holiday to recover from all his
horrendous injuries, naturally accompanied by his devoted fan and
friend Mr Goldman from the pie shop. The ship was also graced with the
presence of the American baritone Mr Samson Thomas and Katherina von
Varbling-Bärbi, who were both on their way to the Metropolitan Opera
in New York.
The SS Europa was the largest and most luxurious cruise liner in the
world and was making its much-anticipated maiden voyage from Tilbury to
New York via the Caribbean. There were three classes of accommodation
available on board - in the first class cabins were Mr and Mrs
Brinley, Mr Placy, Signor Senzatalento, Mr Thomas and Fräulein von
Varbling-Bärbi. In second class were Lieutenant and Mrs Barkingside,
Mr Marshall Allwood and Mr Goldman from the pie shop - and in blue
collar class were Miss Donna and her sister Miss Sherry.
Miss Donna was just happy to be on board the ship with her sisters and
cared not that she could only afford a blue collar class ticket.
Unable to sleep that first night and feeling claustrophobic in the tiny
cabin she shared with Miss Sherry, she decided to go for a walk and get
some fresh air. Suddenly she was surprised to hear the sound of
singing, as a rich tenor voice rang out with an all too familiar
Spanish folk song. It was the beautiful ballad about the girl named
Macarena that her beloved Plascliff had so often sang to her when she
was growing up in Yorkshire. Miss Donna froze, recognising the
powerful voice with the dark baritonal quality that she loved so
dearly. She ran out onto the lower deck of the ship, expecting to find
Mr Placy there but was stunned to discover that the singer was in fact
a young stranger with striking features and a thick mane of unruly
black curls. He was leaning over the side of the ship's railings,
gazing at the stars but stopped his song once he realised that he had
an audience.
"I apologise if my singing disturbed you," he said in a thick
foreign accent
"Oh no," she replied truthfully, "it was the most beautiful
thing I ever heard. Are you employed as a singer here on the ship?"
"I am only a passenger," he answered sadly, "I came to England
for the funeral of my identical twin brother and now I return home to
Mexico"
"I am so sorry" she sighed, "that must be a terrible loss for
your family"
"Actually, I am the only one left now," he replied, "I did also
have an older brother but alas, he was kidnapped by gypsies when he was
a baby. We never saw him again and believe he was accidentally thrown
on a bonfire or something"
"How very tragic" she remarked, averting her eyes from his rather
tight breeches, "By the way, I forgot to introduce myself. My name
is Donna Jay-Bennet - I am very pleased to meet you, Sir"
"And I am Fernando," he answered, kissing her hand "Fernando
Ibrowzgón"
Miss Donna wandered back to her cabin to find her sister Sherry awake
and sitting up in bed in floods of tears.
"My dear Sherry, whatever is the matter?" she asked in alarm
"I cannot tell you" she replied, wiping her eyes.
"Why are you crying?" she persisted, "I thought you would be so
happy - now that Gabriel Pinhead is safely locked away in the lunatic
asylum and you're finally on the SS Europa. It was always your
life's ambition to be a singer on a cruise ship, ever since you were
a little girl"
"Oh Donna, I am so desperately unhappy!" she wept, "I have
fallen in love with someone, but he doesn't love me - he only loves
you!"
Miss Donna handed her a handkerchief, trying to hide her shock
"You love Mr Placy?"
"No," she sobbed, "it is our cousin, Marshall Allwood. I've
seen the way he doesn't know how to act around you. The only reason
he is on this ship in the first place is to make you another offer of
marriage, I am certain of it. Yet you do not even want him! I would
be the most devoted wife he could ever wish for but I am so plain that
he never even notices that I exist!"
"Oh Sherry, I had no idea," sighed Donna, "You certainly kept
your feelings very well hidden until now"
"Whatever can I do?" she sobbed, "If I can't be with him
then I shall surely die of a broken heart"
The next day Miss Donna went to visit her sisters Mrs Barkingside and
Mrs Brinley, and over afternoon tea she related to them what had
happened.
"Poor Sherry," sighed Fiona, "I feel so terribly sorry for
her"
"I am still trying to understand how she can possibly love someone
who always acts in such an unconvincing, wooden manner," commented
Serafina
"We have to do something to help her," continued Donna, "Sherry
deserves to find a nice husband and be happy. And considering that
Father's estate is entailed on Mr Allwood then their marriage would
be a great benefit to our entire family. Do either of you have any
suggestions?"
"I have an idea," began Serafina, "Donna should go to Mr Allwood
and arrange an assignation for tonight, in the garden on the promenade
deck. But then we send along Sherry in your place, cleverly disguised
by wearing one of your dresses and a veil."
"Nobody would be so stupid as to fall for that," replied Donna
sceptically
"Well then, how about a good old-fashioned love potion?" suggested
Fiona, "I'm sure there are plenty of suitably-qualified gypsy women
in blue collar class who could help."
"Why not?" said Serafina, "After all, what's the worst that
can happen?"
Everything was going perfectly according to plan and Miss Donna was
able to acquire a love potion with surprising ease. They planned to
administer it at the cocktail party the next evening when Miss Sherry
and Mr Allwood would both be in attendance. Miss Donna waited until
she saw her sister speaking to Mr Allwood and then surreptitiously
poured the love potion into two glasses of champagne and carried them
over to where the two of them were standing.
"Hello Sherry," she smiled, handing her sister one of the glasses,
"Mr Allwood, I thought you might like a glass of champagne too"
Mr Allwood took the glass and nervously stammered his thanks. But the
poor man was so flustered by the presence of his beloved Miss Donna
that he immediately turned to escape and clumsily bumped straight into
Andrea Senzatalento, causing the great Italian tenor to trip over a
chair and break it.
"I am so sorry!" Mr Allwood gasped, hastily helping Signor
Senzatalento to his feet, "That was so careless of me. And I spilled
your drink too - please, take mine - I insist"
Miss Donna could only watch in horror as Mr Allwood handed over the
drugged glass of champagne to Andrea Senzatalento
"Oh my God, what have I done?" she exclaimed, burying her head in
her hands.
***
Mrs T xx
David Melnick
dav
Mrs T xx wrote:
> CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
>
> Miss Fiona....
REG
"Mrs T xx" <mrs.t...@btinternet.com> wrote in message
news:1146091978....@e56g2000cwe.googlegroups.com...
[great stuff snipped]
shir...@hotmail.com
Ibrowzgon--brother abducted by gypsies as a baby. A tragic fate. =o)
I have a bad feeling about that drugged champagne...
Melissa
Mrs T xx
that I shouldn't have killed off Orlando Ibrowzgón then I thought it
only fair to give him a twin brother with equally thick eyebrows.
My little story is now nearing it's conclusion - I would just like to
thank my friend Mrs Jones who helped me with some of the ideas for the
last few chapters. We had great fun last Sunday sitting in the Pump
Rooms in Bath having afternoon tea and debating the fate of Signor
Senzatalento and all the other main characters. We were on our way
back from a concert in Cardiff at the time, having just heard the
Beethoven 9th with an extremely impressive bass-baritone soloist...
(sigh)
Will try to get the last few chapters written asap.....but I guarantee
you all a very exciting and dramatic finale worthy of any grand opera
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile
waiting for that
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile wrote:
> Thank you for that. So much for my early night - I stayed up ages
> waiting for that
>
My sincere apologies. It would have been posted 1 hour earlier if I
hadn't stopped to watch Desperate Housewives
Can't do any writing tonight as the ROH are bribing me to go along and
do some customer research thing for them . The next chapter should be
on here by Saturday night at the very latest though, when the dramatic
consequences of the love potion will become apparent.......
Mrs T xx
Silverfin
Or is that 'Jane Austen's Wuthering Prejudice Titanic'?
Silverfin
(slightly disappointed in Ms Serafina's concessions to the conventions
of polite society)
Mrs T xx
Silverfin wrote:
> Or is that 'Jane Austen's Wuthering Prejudice Titanic'?
>
Shhhh........
Besides, what are the chances of the SS Europa being struck by an
iceberg in the Caribbean? Anybody????
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile
acrobats...
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile wrote:
> > > Shhhh........
> >
> > Besides, what are the chances of the SS Europa being struck by an
> > iceberg in the Caribbean? Anybody????
> >
> > Mrs T xx
> >
> It all depends on the what the acrobats are doing. I'm waiting for the
> acrobats...
>
You'll be waiting a long time, my dear - because I haven't got a clue
what you're talking about. Care to enlighten me?
Mrs T xx
Mrs T xx
It was too late to stop fate from taking its predestined course.
Moments after drinking the love potion then Miss Sherry and Signor
Senzatalento had crossed over the room, fallen into each others' arms
and were swearing to live and die together, totally oblivious of the
shocked reactions of Miss Sherry's three sisters and the other
passengers in the bar. Miss Donna was both horrified and embarrassed;
she had to drag her sister quite literally kicking and screaming away
from the famous tenor.
"Andrea!" she called out to him, "Most belovèd man!"
"Sherry!" he answered, "Most blessèd woman!"
Despite Miss Donna's most sterling efforts to keep the pair apart it
proved an impossible task. By lunchtime the following day then Miss
Sherry was already officially engaged to be married to Signor
Senzatalento. Their passionate whirlwind romance was the only subject
of gossip and conversation on board the SS Europa and the general
consensus was that nobody had ever seen two people more obviously in
love. Miss Sherry declared to her sisters that she was the happiest
woman alive and could not wait to marry the greatest tenor in the
world. Donna, Fiona and Serafina were mortified at this catastrophic
turn of events and could think of nothing worse than having Andrea
Senzatalento for a brother-in-law. Fiona returned to her cabin feeling
utterly sick and trying to ignore Mr Brinley's enthusiastic musings
about how delightful it will be to have Andrea singing to them for
hours upon end at every family Christmas in the future.
However, Miss Sherry's sisters were not the only ones driven to
despair by this sudden engagement. Shortly after the news had been
officially announced then several passengers witnessed Katherina von
Varbling-Bärbi storm out of Signor Senzatalento's cabin, screaming
at him that he was "un pezzo di merda senza alcun talento
whatsoever" and vowing that he would be sorry. She then kicked over
two chairs in a fit of pique and was seen heading in the direction of
the bar, where she found a very depressed-looking Mr Goldman consoling
himself with a bottle of whisky and a very large pie.
"Oh, it's you" she remarked scornfully, "shouldn't you be
helping your best friend get ready for his engagement party?"
"Andrea's no friend of mine!" replied Mr Goldman bitterly,
"Since he fell in love with Miss Jay-Bennet then he has no time any
more for his loyal fans and friends. That's all the thanks I get for
my years of devotion, for looking after him every time he got stabbed,
shot, burned or pushed off buildings. I'm starting to wish I
hadn't bothered!"
"So am I," agreed Katherina, "These past five years I was
foolish enough to believe his lies - to believe that Andrea wanted to
marry me. But now the dishonourable cad claims he can't even
remember having a relationship with me in the first place - he
pretends to be suffering from some strange kind of selective amnesia"
"The man's a fraud" declared Mr Goldman angrily, "Did you know
that his voice is always amplified by artificial means? I must have
been deaf not to notice how strained his high notes are, but
fortunately I have come to my senses now"
They were both so angry that neither of them noticed the ugly
troll-like man who was lurking in the shadows in the darkest corner of
the bar, eavesdropping with great interest on their conversation. He
now approached Miss Varbling-Bärbi and addressed her in a hushed and
conspiratorial tone;
"Trust me, betrayed woman," he whispered, "I will take revenge
on him that has wronged you."
"On whom?" she asked, regarding the newcomer with suspicion
"On Senzatalento who betrayed you" he replied, "This matter
concerns me too - because dear, legendary SHERRY JAY-BENNET is the love
of my life and that pathetic excuse for a tenor stole her from me."
"You're Mr Pinhead!" exclaimed Mr Goldman, suddenly recognising
him, "I thought you were locked up in a lunatic asylum?"
"I escaped" he boasted, "There was nothing whatsoever wrong with
me - it was all just a malicious plot on the part of her family to
get me out of the way so that they could marry Sherry off to someone
rich instead."
"So all three of us suffer as a result of this engagement"
concluded Mr Goldman, "We should join forces and start using our
brains to think of some way to prevent this marriage from taking
place"
"Using our brains won't help us" interrupted Mr Pinhead, "The
only thing that will help us is Andrea's death."
"Andrea's death!" gasped Katherina, shocked
"That alone will atone for your shame"
"His death benefits us all" agreed Mr Goldman, "So be it -
Andrea shall fall!"
"So be it!" declared Mr Pinhead, "But I ask one favour of you
- let it be me who kills him"
"That's not very democratic," protested Mr Goldman, "We should
let fate decide. Let's put all our names into that empty goldfish
bowl over there and hold a raffle. Whoever's name is picked out gets
the privilege of ridding the world forever of Andrea Senzatalento"
They wrote their names down on the back of the bar snacks menu and tore
it into three pieces, folded the papers and carefully placed them into
the empty goldfish bowl. As they did so, Miss Sherry walked past on
her way to visit her fiancé. Mr Pinhead crept back into the shadows
and hid as Mr Goldman asked Miss Sherry to join them for a moment.
"Can you please pick one of the three names out of this empty
goldfish bowl?" he asked,
"But whatever for?" she asked, suspiciously
"It's nothing important," he lied, "we're just trying to
decide who buys the next round of drinks"
Miss Sherry put her hand into the goldfish bowl, picked out one of the
pieces of paper and handed it to Mr Goldman before exiting the bar.
"Who was chosen?" demanded Katherina as Mr Goldman unfolded it
"Gabriel Pinhead" he read
"My name!" he exclaimed, unable to hide his delight.
The assassination was planned for the engagement party that following
Friday evening. Signor Senzatalento was threatening to sing something
for the joyous occasion but the three conspirators were hoping to stop
him before he inflicted another rendition of "Il postino Pat e il suo
gatto nero e bianco" on everyone. Over three hundred people had been
invited to the party but Mrs Brinley really could not bear the thought
of going. She tried her best to persuade her husband not to attend.
"You sound like you're getting a cold, my dear" Fiona remarked,
"maybe you should cancel tonight?"
But Mr Brinley was very enthusiastic about the party and so Fiona was
forced to resort to plying him with large amounts of beer in the hope
that he would fall asleep or lose track of the time. Lieutenant and
Mrs Barkingside were also hoping to avoid the dreaded party but planned
to show their faces at the beginning and then disappear before the
singing started. Miss Donna was tormented by remorse for the part she
had played in the catastrophe. She had desperately tried to discover
some antidote to the love potion but the gypsy woman had assured her
that its effects were permanent and irreversible.
It was a beautiful clear night and the stars were shining. As the
Atlantic was as calm as a millpond then the captain had put the SS
Europa onto autopilot and very generously allowed the entire crew to be
excused their duties for an hour or two in order to hear Signor
Senzatalento sing. It was a truly wonderful party and with very little
persuasion the star tenor took to the stage amidst rapturous applause,
"My dear fans, I thank you," he smiled, "I am happy you are here
to share this historic moment with me. Mr friend Mr Samson Thomas will
be joining me later in the Pearlfishers duet but before that I would
like to sing a song dedicated to my beautiful fiancée Sherry ' 'I
will always love you'"
It all happened so quickly. Just as Signor Senzatalento went to take
the microphone then Mr Pinhead rushed up behind him and stabbed him
twenty-seven times in the back. There were screams of horror from the
guests as the great tenor staggered and fell off the stage onto the
buffet table below, breaking it beyond repair. He rolled off the
broken table and collapsed lifelessly onto the floor, his white shirt
soaked through with blood. In the chaos that followed Miss Sherry
rushed to her beloved's side and cradled him in her arms as the
ship's doctor desperately tried to stop the bleeding. Mr Pinhead's
attempt to flee the crime scene had been halted by four of the ship's
crew who immediately placed him under arrest and bound his hands.
Signor Senzatalento opened his eyes and looked calmly at the man who
had attacked him,
"No, no - lasciatelo, let him go" he insisted in a faltering
voice, "I pardon him and any others who were involved in this plot"
Suddenly there was a loud crashing noise and the entire ship shook,
swaying violently towards the starboard side. Signor Senzatalento, Mr
Placy, Mr Allwood and Mr Ibrowzgón were all sent rolling across the
floor by the force of the collision.
"What was that?" asked Serafina in alarm.
"We just hit an iceberg" replied Lieutenant Barkingside, "But
don't worry, we're on the SS Europa and everyone knows this ship is
unsinkable - it even said so in the brochure"
**
Mrs T xx
Mrs T xx
The passengers on board the stricken SS Europa were starting to panic.
The iceberg had torn through a section of the hull and water was now
slowly flooding into the hold and up towards the cabins in blue collar
class. The captain had taken the microphone and addressed the ship,
"Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm" he announced, "I
regret to inform you that the SS Europa was hit by an iceberg and there
is a possibility that the ship may sink. We therefore ask all the
women and children to please make their way as quickly as possible to
the lifeboats to be evacuated. The gentlemen should please stay here
and wait for further instructions"
There was pure chaos in the ballroom as the party guests rushed out of
the door onto the upper decks of the ship. Signor Senzatalento still
lay bleeding on the floor with Miss Sherry weeping at his side. His
sheet music had been torn up into pieces by Mr Pinhead after the attack
and was now scattered messily all over the stage. Miss Donna had no
idea where the rest of her sisters were but she picked up some of
Andrea's music then ran to Sherry and pulled her up from the floor,
"To the lifeboat, that I may save thee!" she said.
Miss Sherry was on the point of fainting and too weak to protest or
realise what was happening. Fighting through the crowds Miss Donna
was directed to a large lifeboat and climbed into it with Sherry, who
instantly passed out in the corner. Katherina von Varbling-Bärbi was
also on the same lifeboat with a dozen other women and a couple of
small children. Serafina arrived shortly afterwards with Lieutenant
Barkingside but remained at the side of the lifeboat talking to her
husband.
Fiona had been in her cabin when the iceberg struck and had no idea
what was going on. Mr Brinley had fallen asleep drunk and they had
both missed the engagement party and the stabbing of Signor
Senzatalento. She opened the door and was instantly met by one of the
ship's officers,
"The ship is sinking - we have to evacuate you, miss" he
explained, "just take a warm coat and make your way to the lifeboats
on the promenade deck"
"But what about my husband? I cannot leave him!"
"It's strictly women and children only" he replied,
"Unfortunately there aren't enough lifeboats for the men so they
will all have to stay here on the ship. But we sent out a distress
call and there's a good chance that another ship in the area will
arrive in time to rescue them"
"You're telling me that no men are allowed in the lifeboats at
all?" she asked in disbelief,
"Sort of. We're only making an exception for Samson Thomas,
because he's singing at the Met. But otherwise no, I'm sorry"
Mrs Brinley returned to her cabin to find her husband still sleeping
peacefully. She knew she could never abandon her beloved on the
sinking ship and decided at once that either she would somehow smuggle
him onto one of the lifeboats or she would stay on the ship to die with
him. Looking out into the corridor she saw the rather stout lady from
the cabin next door hurrying off in the direction of the promenade
deck. Without a moment's hesitation Fiona ran into the next door
cabin and opened the wardrobe. She selected a magnificent black
sparkly evening gown which looked like it would fit her husband and
also grabbed a long black cloak with a large hood and a hairpiece of
dark brown ringlets from the dressing table.
Mr Brinley did not exactly take kindly to being woken up by his wife
and dressed in women's clothes. But fortunately he was too drunk to
realise what was happening as Fiona attached the ringlets and pulled
the cloak around him to hide his manly features. She was grateful that
he was still half asleep and not talking as they made their way up onto
the promenade deck and discreetly took their places in the same
lifeboat as Miss Donna and her other sisters.
Meanwhile, Mr Samson Thomas was congratulating himself that his
celebrity status had earned him a place on a lifeboat.
"Please hurry, sir" the captain told him, "The lifeboats will be
leaving in ten minutes sharp. We regret we cannot wait - so if you
are not on a lifeboat by then they will have to go without you"
"I just need to fetch my coat from my cabin," the baritone assured
him, "I will only be a minute"
He entered his first class cabin and quickly collected his coat, but as
he turned to leave he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror and
stopped for a moment to contemplate how handsome he was. But his hair
didn't look quite right, the wind had made it somewhat dishevelled
and he certainly couldn't be seen in public like that!
"They won't leave without me," he said, sitting down at the
dressing table and taking out a comb.....
Back on the promenade deck the lifeboats were now full and about to be
lowered into the ocean. The women were tearfully taking leave of their
men who were staying behind on the doomed ship. It was a very
distressing and emotional situation, made distinctly worse by Katherina
von Varbling-Bärbi's somewhat tactless decision to start singing
"Con te partirò", transposed down a tone. Serafina had just
bidden a sad farewell to Lieutenant Barkingside and was rapidly losing
her patience with the mezzo-soprano.
"If she doesn't shut up soon then I'll push her into the
Atlantic myself!" she fumed under her breath to Miss Fiona.
"Time to say goodbye," warbled Katherina
"Excuse me, Katherina" interrupted Serafina, "But I was just
thinking what a wonderful inspiration your beautiful voice would be to
the poor brave men who are staying on the ship to drown - and how
much courage and comfort it would give them to hear you sing in their
final moments."
"You really think so?" Katherina asked
"Absolutely," agreed Fiona, "It would be a truly saintly and
heroic deed, guaranteed to ensure your name would be remembered
throughout history."
They watched cheerfully as Miss Varbling-Bärbi climbed out of the
lifeboat and back onto the promenade deck with her head proudly held
high. But as she did so Miss Sherry suddenly came round from her
fainting fit and started weeping uncontrollably. Her three sisters
tried their best to comfort her but she pushed them all away.
"Don't be concerned for me, all I want is death" she said
bitterly, "Who asked you to rescue me, Donna? I might have been
struck down by the same weapon that killed Andrea and found my end,
united with him! Far from Andrea - Andrea from you! Oh take me,
death!"
"Live, o sister for the sake of love!" pleaded Donna, "Save the
child that you received from him: a Senzatalento is growing in your
womb!"
"Bloody hell, are you quite sure about that?" gasped Sherry,
blushing
"Know this one thing and remember it always," her sister
continued, "the greatest tenor in the world is being carried in your
sheltering womb. Keep for him these torn up pieces of sheet music
which I luckily managed to save from the stage where his father fell.
One day he will sellotape the music back together again - let him
take his name from me: 'Russell', crossing over into victory!"
The lifeboat was lifted by a crane and slowly lowered down towards the
water.
"I never got to say goodbye to Mr Placy," sighed Miss Donna
"That's a shame" remarked Serafina, "Especially considering
how kind he was to pay all that money to help arrange my wedding."
"What?" gasped Miss Donna
"Oops - I forgot, I was sworn to secrecy and promised never to
tell you" Serafina admitted, "But Mr Placy will be drowned soon so
I suppose it doesn't matter now. But you really should know what an
awfully nice chap he was. He said he did it because he loved you more
than anyone else in the entire world, even though he knew you despised
him"
"I must go to him!" Donna exclaimed, "I must tell him that I
love him before it is too late!"
"Donna, are you mad? What are you doing?" cried Miss Fiona
But before any of her sisters could stop her Miss Donna had climbed out
of the lifeboat and jumped back onto the deck of the doomed SS Europa
(To be continued)
****
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile
La Donna Mobile
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile wrote:
> Oh cool, Miss Donna gets to go down on Mr Placy...?
>
Trust you to think of that!
The whole ship is going down at the moment and I'm the only one who
knows which characters survive and which ones don't..... (ha ha ha)
Mrs T xx
Count of Warwick
MASCHERA!!!!!!!!!!
I must point out that Sr Senzatalento is not related to the noble
House of Warwick, and that to give himself such airs and graces he
deserved to die. If Pinhead had not been there, I would have trained my
pet Grizzly Bear to beat him repeatedly over the head with a ragged
staff.
This is wonderful stuff, Donna Terfelina. More, please!
You may be wondering why I've been away. The truth is I have been
attempting to design my own stab proof shirt. Trials had mixed
results, and the worst failure came when poor Francesco Casanova sang
my fictional counterpart. When the stabbing scene occurred, it was
rather like a balloon being popped. He flew about in the auditorium
then fell deflated into the orchestra pit.
I now have the product ready and it works. What a pity about
Senzatalento (not) ! *snort! chortle!!!*
Warwick
Mrs T xx
Count of Warwick wrote:
>>
> This is wonderful stuff, Donna Terfelina. More, please!
>
until Das Ende and then it'll be someone else's turn to write us some
nice opera fiction. Although naturally the unborn son of Sherry and
Andrea leaves open the possibility of a sequel....
.
> What a pity about Senzatalento (not) ! *snort! chortle!!!*
>
You're all assuming that he's actually dead this time...... Sorry to
disappoint you but he was still alive but very badly wounded at the end
of the last chapter.
Mrs T xx
Count of Warwick
marries him.
So, it's in your best interests that he dies!!!!!
Count
Silverfin
Mrs T xx wrote:
> Count of Warwick wrote:
> >>
> > This is wonderful stuff, Donna Terfelina. More, please!
> >
> Glad you like it, but I'm afraid there's only 1 or 2 chapters to go
> until Das Ende and then it'll be someone else's turn to write us some
> nice opera fiction. Although naturally the unborn son of Sherry and
> Andrea leaves open the possibility of a sequel....
>
I'd volunteer to write a sequel, except that
(a) I have to write a dissertation first, and
(b) you know I'd insist on setting it in outer space, with the only
romance being the homoerotic subtexts.
Silverfin
Mrs T xx
Silverfin wrote:
> > I'd volunteer to write a sequel, except that
> (a) I have to write a dissertation first, and
> (b) you know I'd insist on setting it in outer space, with the only
> romance being the homoerotic subtexts.
>
You could always write a sequel in the Eurotrash style......
The next and penultimate chapter is already written with the exception
of a couple of paragraphs that I feel unable to write myself and have
therefore delegated out to La Donna, who is more qualified than me in
such matters.
Mrs T xx
Mrs T xx
my behalf.
As this is Jane Austen then naturally the No Smut rule
applies.....however, I would not be surprised if La Donna later
volunteers to enlighten us all with the sordid details of exactly what
happened between Mr Placy and Miss Donna in his cabin as the ship was
going down........
Mrs T xx
Mrs T xx
Miss Donna clambered back onto the promenade deck, ignoring the frantic
shouts of her sisters that she should get back into the lifeboat and
stop being so stupid. The SS Europa was now even lower in the water
and all the cabins in blue collar class were totally flooded. Icy
seawater was now pouring into the second class decks at an alarming
rate and she estimated that in less than two hours the entire ship
would be at the bottom of the Atlantic. All around her was total
chaos: some men were jumping into the water, others were fighting for a
place on the railing at the highest point of the ship, some were
praying, some were getting drunk and a few sensible ones like
Lieutenant Barkingside were smashing up furniture to build a raft.
She rushed back into the ballroom which was the last place she has seen
Mr Placy before the iceberg struck. The elegant room was deserted with
the exception of Fernando Ibrowzgón who was admirably helping the
seriously wounded Andrea Senzatalento to his feet, assisted by a very
remorseful-looking Mr Goldman. Between them the two men dragged the
star tenor to a sofa and tried their best to make him comfortable.
"He's still alive?" she remarked, astonished
"He's not quite dead," replied Mr Ibrowzgón
"I'm getting better" insisted Andrea
Miss Donna was extremely impressed that Mr Ibrowzgón was so selflessly
trying to help others rather than save his own life. She watched him
bending over the sofa in his tight breeches to give a glass of brandy
to the injured opera singer and thought with some regret what a pity it
was that she hadn't had the chance to get to know him better. But
she could not let herself be distracted from what she needed to do,
which was to find her beloved Mr Placy before it was too late.
She ran down endless corridors, pushing open all the doors of the first
class cabins and calling out his name - but in vain. The tears had
started to fall onto her cheeks as she realised in despair that there
were still almost a thousand people left on the ship and the chances of
ever finding him were slim. Just as she was about to give up hope she
noticed the solitary figure of a man on the deserted promenade deck on
the port side of the ship. He was standing by the railings in an
unbuttoned white flouncy shirt, fondling his chest hair and watching
the lifeboats disappear into the distance.
"Mr Placy!" she called out, her voice fraught with emotion
"Miss Donna!" he exclaimed, shocked at seeing her, "I don't
understand - I saw you get onto a lifeboat! What on earth are you
doing here?"
"I forgot something"
"What could possibly be so important that it was worth risking your
life to come back for?" he asked
"This!" she said, putting her arm around his neck and pulling him
against her in a passionate kiss.
Suddenly there was loud crash and one of the SS Europa's huge funnels
broke off and fell into the water with such a powerful impact that the
entire ship tilted over violently, throwing all the remaining
passengers across the deck towards the starboard side. Mr Placy and
Miss Donna were sent flying onto the floor, still locked in each
other's arms and rolled all the way down the promenade deck to the
other end of the ship, stopping only feet away from the rising water.
Without a word Mr Placy pulled her to her feet, grabbed her hand
tightly and led her back up the ship's deck towards the first class
levels which were still safely above water. As they reached Mr
Placy's cabin he stopped and turned to face her,
"Miss Donna," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Spoken by
his lips, her name sounded like music. He gazed intensely at her, his
eyes full of passion.
"Plascliff!" she sighed
He held his head slightly to one side and moved closer to her. Gently
he took her face in his hands and caressed her cheek with his thumb.
She watched, transfixed as he took a deep breath and swallowed. She was
startled to see that look of ardour she remembered so well from their
Yorkshire childhood. She shivered but not with cold. He took her
tenderly in his arms and as she gazed upwards into his eyes she felt an
urge to caress his chest hair. How well she remembered those rainy days
in Grimup North Street - lying beside him by the railway track, rolling
around on the Yorkshire moors, when she would sometimes kick off her
boots and tease him by running her toes playfully through his chest
hair. But, she reminded herself sharply, that was another time and
another place. She was no longer the innocent child and he was now a
gentleman of status, not Plascliff the gypsy boy from the Liverpool
docks. He grasped her closely to him.
"Be My Love!" he said "A love until the end of time!"
Nervously, she said "Perhaps..."
He interrupted and whispered the words "Perhaps love is like a
resting place, a shelter from the storm; it exists to give you comfort,
it is there to keep you warm. And in those times of trouble when you
are most alone; the memory of love will bring you home"
Miss Donna felt herself swooning. She had never heard words so romantic
and so meaningful and wondered who the hell had written them. She
smiled up at him, gazing again on that handsome face she had once known
so well. Shyly she traced her finger along his lower lip, revelling in
its fullness. More than ever, she bitterly regretted turning down his
marriage proposal, and she no longer felt anger at his proud, arrogant
behaviour or how he had attempted to separate her sister from Mr
Brinley. She only knew that if she was fated to go down, it would be
with him.
Overcome with emotion she sank against his chest, no longer able or
even wanting to resist him. Mr Placy swept her up into his arms and
kicked open the cabin door, "Tonight, tonight - it all began
tonight" he sang softly, "I saw you and the world went away"
"Mr Placy!" she exclaimed, shocked, but filled with anticipation
as he carried her through the broken door and into the bedroom.....
In the cabin next door Mr Samson Thomas was admiring his handsome
features in the mirror and was now finally satisfied that his hair was
absolutely perfect. As the water had now slowly started to seep under
the door into the room then he figured it would probably be a good idea
to go up onto the deck and take his place in the lifeboat. As he
stepped out into the corridor he bumped into Mr Placy and Miss Donna
who were both looking somewhat dishevelled.
"Mr Thomas!" declared Mr Placy in surprise, "I didn't realise
you were still on board. The last lifeboat departed over an hour ago
and it seems you've missed it"
"Oh hell, what shall I do now?" he cursed
"Come with us up to the main deck, we'll think of something"
Mr Placy, Miss Donna and Mr Thomas entered the ballroom where a small
group of about twenty survivors were sitting around on the floor amidst
the broken furniture and discussing what to do. Among those present
were Lieutenant Barkingside, Mr Goldman from the pie shop, Mr Pinhead,
Marshall Allwood, Katherina von Varbling-Bärbi, Mr Ibrowzgón and the
seriously wounded but still not quite dead Signor Senzatalento. Mr
Placy went up onto the stage and took the microphone,
"Welcome to the SS Europa emergency crisis meeting" he began,
"As you know, very shortly the ship is going to sink and I feel
it's important that we're prepared for this and have contingency
plans in place to ensure the survival of as many people as possible.
Now, are there any questions?"
Miss Varbling-Bärbi raised her hand and smiled sweetly at Mr Placy.
Miss Donna thought it strange that she had changed into a different
evening gown to the one she had been wearing an hour previously.
"I've heard that there are sharks in the Atlantic, is this
true?" she asked
"Yes, it is true" replied Mr Placy, "But don't worry -
sharks are only attracted by the smell of fresh blood. So unless
you've just been stabbed twenty-seven times and are bleeding
profusely then you should be quite safe."
"Great" sighed Andrea Senzatalento
"The real danger here is not sharks or drowning, but hypothermia"
continued Mr Placy, "That water is freezing and so our aim is to stay
out of it for as long as possible. Lieutenant Barkingside, it might be
a good idea to put your shirt back on."
Before Mr Placy could finish the other points on the agenda there was a
deafening crash as the SS Europa suddenly split in two and started to
sink at an accelerated pace, the back of the ship tilting up at a
forty-five degree angle. Miss Donna screamed and threw herself into Mr
Placy's arms, kissing him frantically.
"I want to go down with you!" she insisted,
"Time is running out" he told her firmly, "For God's sake,
find something large and wooden to hold on to - it's your only
chance of survival!"
Miss Donna glanced round the room in panic but all the chairs and
tables had been broken into small pieces and were no good. Then she
spotted Marshall Allwood who was just wandering around the stage
without any sense of direction or purpose,
"Cousin!" she shouted, rushing over to him and clinging onto his
arm for dear life.
The ship was now tilting up even more steeply and those who were not
strong enough to hold on went sliding down the deck into the icy water
below. Mr Placy had managed to get a place on the highest part of the
ship, just a few feet away from where Miss Donna and Mr Allwood were
also holding onto the railings.
"I estimate we have about five minutes left before the ship is
totally submerged" shouted Mr Placy, "When the ship sinks you'll
be dragged down under the water with it so take a deep breath and then
kick your way up to the surface as soon as you can"
"My God!" wailed Miss Donna, "Things can't possibly get any
worse!"
At that moment Katherina von Varbling-Bärbi started to sing
"Every night in my dreams I see you, I feel you. That is how I know
you go on" she warbled, "Far across the distance and spaces between
us,
you have come to show you go on"
Miss Donna started to think that maybe drowning wasn't such an
unattractive option after all. The last thing she heard as she went
under the water was the sound of Katherina's voice:
"Near, far - wherever you are, I believe that the heart does go
on," she sang, "Once more you open the door and you're here in my
heart and my heart will go on and on"
(To be continued...)
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile
> Mr Placy had managed to get a place on the highest part of the
> ship,
Strange things happen at sea
(I thought I'd say it before anyone else did...)
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile wrote:
> Mrs T xx wrote:
> > Mr Placy had managed to get a place on the highest part of the
> > ship,
>
> Strange things happen at sea
>
> (I thought I'd say it before anyone else did...)
>
Actually, it was originally too high for him and he couldn't manage to
get up there at all......but once the ship started sinking a bit lower
then he had no problems :-)
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile
child she had loved “Plascliff” as a brother; this had turned to true
romantic love as she had grown older. Only with Plascliff did she feel
the love that is the heartbeat of the entire universe How she bitterly
regretted rejecting him in favour of the nice and respectable Mr
Finlinton, whom she had subsequently rejected, too.
For many years she felt anger at Plascliff for disappearing out of her
life; when she had realised he had returned and she was ready to love
him, he was angry and bitter at her rejection. And now?
They were together in the small cabin, so close that they could barely
avoid touching. All she could she sense was his physicality. He towered
over her by about a foot in height, and he had a great physical
presence. She could not keep her eyes off his face, his dark gypsy eyes,
his lips that she had kissed so innocently as a child, and which she
wanted to kiss less innocently now. A strong man but sensitive and
intelligent, with charm and charisma, and with a handsome income. She
knew that she wanted to marry him, and regretted that it was now too
late. The ship was sinking, and there was no ship’s chaplain.
She recalled the books they had read together in their idyllic
childhood, in breaks between exercising their pet ferrets in GrimUp
North. The great love story of Tristan und Isolde and the Nordic
legends with their strange tales of gods and dwarves and
semi-humans/semi-gods. She knew that the heroes of these legends had
lain together in a way that only married people should. Perhaps, with
the ship about to sink, it would not be wrong to be as married.
But she did not know what to do. Perhaps Mr Placy, a man of the world,
would know. Her brother-in-law, Mr Brinley had said that his friend Mr
Placy had visited every continent on the planet, except Antarctica, and
only because that had not yet been discovered. Miss Donna had barely
been outside of Essexshire before this voyage. She gazed in awe at Mr
Placy. For a moment her eyes wandered to his chest and again she felt
the urge to fondle his chest hair. Would it be ladylike to allow her
eyes to travel further down his body?
Nonchalantly he turned away and picked up a pillbox from his bedside
table. He took a tablet from the box and put it in his mouth.
“Is that a vitamin potion?” she asked. “It’s a very bright blue colour.
I do not think I have ever seen a tablet of that colour before.”
He smiled. “It’s like a vitamin potion, I suppose, but it’s especially
for men.”
Donna did not know what he meant but his tone of voice and the look on
his face made her think that this was something delicious and naughty.
She plucked up courage and held out her arms to him. He grasped her left
hand in his right, and then raised it to his lips. Donna’s eyes followed
her hand and she shivered again.
“Your tiny hand is frozen!” he said. “Such sweet hands, gentle and
pure…” He brought her right hand up to his lips and, closing his eyes,
he landed soft kisses on both hands.
Until she started to breathe again Donna did not know she had stopped.
It was as if he was oblivious to her presence and yet he was absorbed in
her body. Gently, he let her hands fall and wrapped his arms around her
waist, pulling her to him. His movements were strong and firm, and yet
Donna did not feel fear. Her face was pressed next to his chest. She
took a deep breath and inhaled his aroma, so masculine, an aroma she
found irresistible. She unfastened another button on his shirt, wanting
to explore more of his chest, perhaps even down to his stomach. She
remembered when he demonstrated how he could move a pianoforte just with
his stomach muscles. She wanted nothing more than to caress his stomach.
The feel of his mouth nuzzling her neck was exquisite. Gently, he pushed
the sleeve of her gown off her shoulder.
“Mr Placy!” she exclaimed, horrified at the impropriety of his conduct.
And yet, she was pleased that he ignored her objections. He was more
insistent with the other sleeve, even tearing some of the blue lace
collar, and the feel of his lips on her throat felt more delicious than
the breeze that blows off the Estuary of Thames in the spring. To her
consternation, she felt a pain between her legs, in the area that ladies
mustn’t mention, but it was a pleasant pain, like she and her sisters
had felt when they had hacked their ponies across Langdon Hills. But
infinitely more pleasurable.
His hands caressed her back. How delightful that this strong man could
be so tender and yet so masculine. If this was what marriage was like
she determined to be married as soon as possible. His kisses were going
lower than her throat, down her neck, and almost down to where her
décolletage began. She was disappointed that he went no lower. Would it
be so wrong if he were to kiss her breasts? She no longer minded if he
ripped her gown off her.
He kissed her on the lips, first softly but with increasing ardour and
passion. That felt wonderful and without even thinking she responded,
doing to him what he was doing to her. Their bodies were entwined
together, his hands now holding her plump derriere in a way that felt
surprisingly good. Tentatively, she copied what he was doing to her.
Even more to her surprise, she liked what she was feeling in her hands.
She knew it was wrong to touch men below their waists, but how could
something that felt this good be so wrong?
As they kissed, their embrace grew ever tighter. She was shocked when he
forced his tongue into her mouth. Although she offered no resistance;
she was unable to. She had never done this when she had practised
kissing with her sisters, although, thinking back, perhaps Miss Serafina
and Miss Sherry had. She was not sure. And she did not care! Nothing she
had experienced before, or read in novels, or experienced in the music
of that obscure but under-rated late Austrian, Herr Mozart, could have
prepared her for the feeling of Mr Placy’s tongue caressing the roof of
her mouth. Could there be a more intense physical feeling than that?
Encouraged, she let her tongue enter his mouth and instinct drove her to
lick his throat. As she did so, she was seized by a supernatural
knowledge that, somehow, she was touching greatness.
He grasped her even closer to him and she was startled by what felt
almost like a stabbing feeling in her stomach. Perturbed, she withdrew
from his embrace.
“What’s that in your pocket, Mr Placy?” she asked flustered.
His eyes narrowed. As she gazed at him, she felt as if a torrent was
rushing to her most intimate areas.
“That’s for you!” he said with tenderness in his soft voice, and he
inhaled deeply. Donna did not understand what he was saying but his
voice was reassuring and his words sounded good. And she had found so
much pleasure in his arms she did not want to waste a further moment in
conversation.
She put her arms round his waist and was rewarded. He grasped her firmly
on the arms and his ardour was almost unstoppable in his desperation to
kiss Donna’s neck and shoulders, even grazing her with little nibbles,
and to her surprise and delight, even ripping some of her gown as he
kissed and licked the top of her bosom.
She had never been licked by anyone before and it felt exquisite. She
almost fell as she leaned backwards in the momentum of his physical
desire. To steady herself she rested her hands on his belt. She did not
know what possessed her to slide her fingers beneath his waistband. She
knew it was wicked and unladylike, possibly the most sinful act she had
ever committed.
Her heart beat faster and Mr Placy gave a moan. Alarmed, Donna looked at
his face. She was not sure, but she thought that he might be enjoying
himself. “Oh Miss Donna!” he breathed, “that feels good!” His hands
touched her breasts. For a moment she was outraged: this is not how a
gentleman should behave, perhaps he was no better than a gypsy boy.
Softly his fingers caressed her nipples through her gown. To her horror
and then to her delight, she learnt that this was enjoyable.
“More!” she exclaimed. “Please do more! Take my gown off, I beg you Mr
Placy.”
This was anguish and pleasure together. What they were doing was so
wrong but how could it be so wrong if it was more enjoyable even than
dancing, or eating pies? For a moment, she felt anger at how the
parsons and schoolteachers, her parents and maiden aunts, and the
writers of etiquette books for young ladies had repeatedly warned of the
evils of letting a man touch a young lady before marriage. They were
still fully clothed and not yet married. Was it possible that there was
still more to learn and experience? If so, she wanted it to happen in
the arms of her beloved Plascliff.
She felt quite weak and as if she was having the vapours, even though
she was not wearing a corset. She felt her legs turn to jelly and she
sank to her knees, and realised – her shame or her glory, she was not
sure – that her face was resting between Mr Placy’s legs, against the
most intimate parts of his body.
(to be continued...)
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile wrote:
> >>
> "More!" she exclaimed. "Please do more! Take my gown off, I beg you Mr
> Placy."
>
Brilliant! That would be a nice line for you to try at the stage door
of the Albert Hall on Thursday night. I dare you......
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile
> Count of Warwick wrote:
>
>>This is wonderful stuff, Donna Terfelina. More, please!
>>
>
> Glad you like it, but I'm afraid there's only 1 or 2 chapters to go
> until Das Ende and then it'll be someone else's turn to write us some
> nice opera fiction. Although naturally the unborn son of Sherry and
> Andrea leaves open the possibility of a sequel....
>
> .
Perhaps if we ask really nicely and add lots of 'please'es, Ms Studer's
most ardent fan may volunteer to contribute a sequel.
La Donna Mobile
Besides, I shall be wearing a crossover top, not a gown...
Silverfin
La Donna Mobile wrote:
> Once inside Mr Placy's cabin, Donna tried to collect her thoughts. <snip>
Hilarious!
Silverfin
Mrs T xx
The waters of the Atlantic were fatally cold that night. Miss Donna
had clung onto the ship's railings until the very last moment when
the hull sank beneath the waves and was then dragged down under water
with it. Opening her eyes she could see only darkness and the shock of
the freezing temperature had all but paralysed her. Suddenly she felt
something wooden beside her and was able to hold onto it as it floated
up to the surface. She came up coughing and spluttering next to her
cousin Marshall Allwood, gasping for air and on the verge of passing
out. Just as everything started to go black in front of her eyes she
felt several hands lifting her out of the water and pushing her up onto
a large piece of broken furniture that was floating nearby.
Miss Donna had no idea how long she was unconscious for but it seemed
as if she was drifting in and out of a nightmare. All she could hear
when she came round were the voices of two men - one American and one
British who were having a heated argument about something in the water
next to her.
"You are not!" the British voice was shouting,
"Yes I am!" shouted back the American
"Sorry, but you're definitely not!"
"What the hell do you know anyway?" demanded the American angrily
"I know that you're not a Verdi baritone!"
"Say that one more time and I'll kill you!"
"Not a Verdi baritone, NOT a Verdi baritone -NOT A VERDI
BARITONE!"
Then there was the sound of violent splashing. Miss Donna opened her
eyes and saw Mr Samson Thomas pushing Mr Goldman's head under the
water and holding it there. She gasped and looked at Mr Thomas in
shock and disbelief
"My God, that's terrible!" she exclaimed in disgust
"What's wrong?" demanded Mr Thomas, "Why are you staring at me
like that? Don't tell me my hair is all messed up again.....quick,
somebody find me a mirror!"
Cautiously Miss Donna sat up and looked around her, her eyes adjusting
to the dark night. She was floating on a large wardrobe door and
somebody had wrapped a white flouncy shirt around her shoulders to keep
her warm. With horror she noticed dozens of dead bodies floating in
the water all around her, the poor unfortunate men who had already died
of hypothermia. Others were still flailing about, hopelessly calling
for help that never came. One of the corpses floating face-down in the
water was bare-chested and she realised in despair that it could only
be her brother-in-law Lieutenant Barkingside who had so heroically
given up his shirt and sacrificed his own life to save hers. She
couldn't see her beloved Mr Placy anywhere in the water but prayed
that he had also found some broken furniture to hold onto. She
shivered and pulled the white shirt around her, shedding a tear for the
fate of poor tragic Lieutenant Barkingside and thinking how devastated
Serafina would be when she learned the news.
The calls for help from the survivors had all now died away and an
eerie silence fell over the water, broken only by the sound of
Katherina von Varbling-Bärbi (who had somehow found the time to change
into a different pink evening dress) singing "Nearer my God to
Thee","Do not stand at my grave and weep" and "Always look on
the bright side of life"
It was difficult for Miss Donna to determine the precise moment when
Miss Varbling-Bärbi stopped singing and started screaming as it all
seemed to blend into one. The cause of her terror was the sudden
appearance of six large sharks heading straight for the unfortunate
Andrea Senzatalento, who was flailing about in the water, defiantly
clinging onto life. Miss Donna was squeamish and turned away, unable
to watch what happened next. On the other side of her makeshift raft
she noticed Marshall Allwood who was still alive and seemed to have a
natural talent for staying afloat.
"Are you alright?" her cousin asked her, "You look quite deathly
pale"
"I thank you , I am well" she replied, "I just can't bear to
watch Signor Senzatalento being torn to pieces by those sharks,
that's all. I just pray that his death will be mercifully quick"
"So that he won't suffer longer than necessary?"
"No, so that he won't have time to sing a really long dying aria
first"
But unfortunately for Miss Donna her wish didn't come true. Despite
closing her eyes and putting her hands over her ears she couldn't
escape from hearing the star tenor's final performance.
"Ah, I'm dying!" he sang. "I'm dying! Alas, I die! I feel
my soul departing! O nature, go into mourning - for your beloved son
is going to die! Farewell, I really am dying this time..... do not
forget me.... "
He carried on for ten minutes in a similar vein but just when everyone
thought that he had finished he then surprised them all with a repeat
followed by a rather messy improvised piece of coloratura and then a da
capo al fine.
Several miles away in the lifeboats the women and children had
tearfully watched the SS Europa's final moments in horrified silence.
Mrs Brinley was wracked with guilt that she had used such an underhand
trick to save her own husband while so many women were now weeping for
the men they had lost. But she did not regret her decision as she
watched him sleeping soundly in the corner of the lifeboat, the dark
cloak still hiding his true identity. Mrs Barkingside gazed out to sea
sadly and somehow knew the truth that her dear husband had shuffled off
the mortal coil.
"What's that?" asked Serafina, noticing something on the
horizon,
"I can't see anything" replied Fiona
"Isn't it a ship?" she asked, "A large ship with black masts
and blood-red sails?"
Miss Fiona looked hard in the direction that her sister was pointing
"No it isn't" she insisted, "Your eyes must be deceiving you.
It's nothing but a large screen with lots of strange video
projections on it. It's definitely not a ship by any stretch of the
imagination"
"How disappointing," replied Serafina
Some hours later, just as dawn was breaking the survivors in the
lifeboats were finally rescued by a freight ship of Scandinavian origin
called the SS Ikea, which was bound for New York with a cargo of
impossible-to-assemble furniture. Mr Brinley had finally woken up with
a terrible hangover and was extremely embarrassed to find himself
wearing a black sparkly dress. As they were waiting to go on board
the SS Ikea then Mr Brinley turned to his wife,
"Do you really want to go to New York with the others?" he asked
her,
"What do you mean?" she asked, confused,
"Look at all those beautiful islands over there," he smiled, "We
could live together so happily on one of them, far from the rest of the
world - our own idyllic paradise, just the two of us."
Fiona bid an emotional farewell to her sisters Sherry and Serafina and
stayed behind in the lifeboat with Mr Brinley. A few hours later they
had landed on a beautiful tropical island with white sandy beaches,
palm trees and everything they could wish for.
"This is just perfect," declared a contented Mr Brinley, "Our
new home - just the two of us!"
"Just the two of us," replied Miss Fiona, "And the fifty-six
other people over there on the far side of the beach"
Turning round Mr Brinley saw that she was right and there was a large
group of other survivors there, mainly young and rather
attractive-looking Americans. They had seen the lifeboat arrive and
now came to greet them, asking them their names,
"I'm Mr Brinley and this is my wife Fiona," he explained, "We
are very pleased to see that you made it. Have you by any chance seen
our friend Mr Placy? We haven't seen him since the disaster and
don't know if he survived or not. He's about six feet tall,
handsome, has a lot of chest hair - his age varies depending on who
you ask....."
"We haven't seen him, I'm sorry" replied one of the men,
"But we don't understand how you got to be here?"
"We escaped from the ship" explained Mr Brinley, "Weren't you
on the SS Europa too?"
"No," replied the stranger, "We were all on Oceanic flight 815.
You could say we're lost"
Miss Donna had fallen asleep on her makeshift raft, totally exhausted
by the shock of the terrifying ordeal she had experienced. When she
woke again she found that the wardrobe door on which she had been
floating had now been washed up on an unknown foreign shore. The beach
was littered with broken furniture from the SS Europa, survivors from
the disaster and the bodies of those who had not been so lucky.
The sun was so bright that she could barely see and it was swelteringly
hot. She got up and wandered along the beach in search of her beloved
Mr Placy. Every time she came across a dead body her heart stopped,
fearing the worst - but so far there was no trace of him anywhere.
She bumped into her cousin Marshall Allwood who had also floated to
safety and he immediately offered to help her in the grim task of
searching the beach. Suddenly Mr Allwood tripped over something round
in the sand and reached down to pick it up. To Miss Donna's disgust
it turned out to be a severed head, so badly mangled that half of the
skull was showing. Her cousin held it in his hand and stood there
contemplating it for a moment,
"Alas, poor Andrea" he mused, "I knew him, Miss Donna"
Further along the beach they stumbled across the body of Mr Samson
Thomas, lying face-down on a full-length mirror to which he had been
clinging in his final moments.
"What a handsome corpse" she thought as she gently draped a jacked
over his head
Suddenly she noticed the figure of a man walking towards her along the
beach. Although he was two hundred metres away she could make out an
unbuttoned white flouncy shirt and an impressive display of chest hair.
"Plascliff!" she cried, running towards him as fast as she could.
Moments later she was in his arms, holding him tightly and locked in a
passionate embrace,
"Finally I've found you, my beloved" she sobbed, "And no-one
will separate us ever again!"
"My darling Donna" he sighed, clasping her against his chest
But as she went to kiss him again he was suddenly seized by a violent
coughing fit and sank to his knees in the sand,
"My God, what's wrong?" she asked in alarm
"I think I need a doctor" he gasped, noticing the spots of blood
on his handkerchief.
Donna looked around her in a panic and saw that her cousin had just
caught up with them.
"Mr Allwood!" she shouted, "Don't just stand around doing
nothing - you have to act!"
"But I have no idea what to do" he confessed
"You must act at once!" she pleaded, "Quickly - go and see if
you can find a doctor"
Five minutes later Mr Allwood returned, bringing with him Fernando
Ibrowzgón. The young man had gone down with the ship and survived,
but being in the water for so long had caused his breeches to shrink
and they were now extremely tight. Miss Donna glanced up at him,
"You're a doctor?" she asked, surprised
"I have a PhD in media studies" he replied, "But I'll do my
best to help"
"It is useless, I am dying" gasped Mr Placy, "Alas, I'll never
see my beloved Mexican homeland or the beautiful beaches of Acapulco"
"You're from Acapulco too?" asked Mr Ibrowzgón.
"Yes, but I was kidnapped by gypsies and brought to England as a
child"
Mr Ibrowzgón looked at him in astonishment for a moment,
"Forgive what may sound like a foolish question, sir" Mr
Ibrowzgón asked, "But do you by any chance have a strawberry birth
mark under your chest hair?"
"As a matter of fact I do," Mr Placy replied, confused
"Then you are my long-lost brother!" he exclaimed, embracing him
"How happy I am to have finally found you after all these years!"
"As am I" smiled Mr Placy, "Now I can die contented, surrounded
by those I hold dearest in all the world"
Mr Placy slowly sat up, took a little silver picture frame out of his
pocket and handed it to Miss Donna,
"Last night you wanted to know what I had in my pocket - this was
it" he began, "Take it - it is a portrait of me from days gone by.
May it remind you of him who loved you so deeply"
"No, you cannot die!" wept Miss Donna, "You must live on, my
beloved!"
"If one day you meet a nice young man, preferably one with thick
eyebrows and from a Latin background...." he continued, "If he
gives you his heart then you should marry him, I want you to. Give him
this portrait and tell him it's from one who is up in heaven praying
for him and for you"
With a final supreme effort Mr Placy stood up and gazed wistfully into
the distance,
"It's strange!" he exclaimed dramatically
"What?" asked Miss Fiona, Mr Ibrowzgón and Mr Allwood
"When the ship sank then Katherina von Varbling-Bärbi was
definitely wearing a pink satin dress but now she's over there in
pale blue taffeta"
Miss Donna, Mr Ibrowzgón and Mr Allwood were surprised to hear that
not only was Katherina still alive but she had somehow managed to find
another change of evening dress. They all turned round to look at her
for a moment and when they turned back they found Mr Placy lying on the
sand with his eyes closed, his right hand resting peacefully against
his chest hair.
"He's dead!" wailed Miss Donna, throwing herself weeping onto
his body
She lay there for what seemed like an eternity, unable to believe that
she had lost her beloved Plascliff. Life without him was too
unbearable and she debated about whether it was best to stab herself,
take some poison, throw herself onto his funeral pyre or just die there
on the spot of a broken heart. But then she remembered his final
words to her - he had wanted her to live and be happy, so it was her
duty to obey him. Finally she composed herself and stood up with proud
dignity to address Mr Ibrowzgón and Mr Allwood,
"Bring hither to me mighty pieces of broken furniture," she
commanded, "Pile them up by the shore of the sea. Let the flames
burn high and brightly which consume the noble body of the greatest
hero who ever lived"
Miss Donna was too grief-stricken to watch and so went for a walk while
the two men accomplished their sad task. She returned an hour later to
find a raging fire already lighting up the sky. Tearfully she watched
the flames and wept for her beloved Plascliff. As she turned away she
tripped over something and fell over. Looking up she was absolutely
horrified to discover it was Mr Placy, still lying there in the sand
exactly where she had left him an hour ago.
"Mr Allwood!" she shouted furiously, "What have you done? Why
is Mr Placy still lying here and not on the funeral pyre?"
Mr Allwood looked at her in confusion,
"You said it was for the greatest hero who ever lived," he
explained, "So we naturally assumed you were talking about Andrea
Senzatalento"
EPILOGUE
After the disaster Miss Donna Jay-Bennet went to Mexico with Mr
Fernando Ibrowzgón. Two years later she came out of mourning and
married Mr Placy's younger brother on a beach in Acapulco in a
beautiful wedding ceremony, accompanied by a symphony orchestra. Mr
and Mrs Brinley decided to leave the tropical island after they
discovered it was a rather dangerous place to live and there were no
pies there. They crossed over the Atlantic and returned home to North
Wales where they lived happily together in a new house that Mr Brinley
had built in the middle of the road. Miss Serafina took an instant
liking to the dark brooding Norwegian captain of the SS Ikea who had
rescued her. She caused something of a scandal by running off with
him, even though her husband Lieutenant Barkingside was officially
still classed as missing and presumed dead.
Nobody knows what happened to Mr Gabriel Pinhead after the SS Europa
sank. The Jay-Bennet family hoped that he had perished but lived with
the anxiety that at any time he might suddenly re-appear and cause
trouble when they were least expecting it. Miss Katherina von
Varbling-Bärbi released an award-winning album of songs she had sung
as the ship was sinking, entitled 'Living a nightmare'. She
eventually found love again with Marshall Allwood and married him a
year later, only to be tragically struck down by a fatal allergic
reaction caused by wearing too much eye makeup.
Miss Sherry gave birth to a son in pain and sorrow such as no woman had
ever suffered. Following her sister Donna's advice she named him
Russell Senzatalento - and although he never quite became the
greatest tenor in the world then he certainly inherited his father's
unbelievable high notes and amazing talent for being able to project
his voice so that it could be heard five metres away without
amplification. Miss Sherry never stopped mourning her beloved Andrea
but took comfort in the belief that he was certainly up there among the
choirs of angels, singing all the tenor solos and making heaven a
better place.
THE END
***
Mrs T xx
Silverfin
xSilverfin
Mrs Jones
Mrs J
La Donna Mobile
> CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
>
> The waters of the Atlantic were fatally cold that night. Miss Donna
> had clung onto the ship's railings until the very last moment when
> the hull sank beneath the waves and was then dragged down under water
> with it. Opening her eyes she could see only darkness and the shock of
> the freezing temperature had all but paralysed her. Suddenly she felt
> something wooden beside her and was able to hold onto it as it floated
> up to the surface. She came up coughing and spluttering next to her
> cousin Marshall Allwood, gasping for air and on the verge of passing
> out. Just as everything started to go black in front of her eyes she
> felt several hands lifting her out of the water and pushing her up onto
> a large piece of broken furniture that was floating nearby.
Ah, brave strong bold chaps! My heroes!
Presumably it was wet...
With horror she noticed dozens of dead bodies floating in
> the water all around her, the poor unfortunate men who had already died
> of hypothermia. Others were still flailing about, hopelessly calling
> for help that never came. One of the corpses floating face-down in the
> water was bare-chested and she realised in despair that it could only
> be her brother-in-law Lieutenant Barkingside who had so heroically
> given up his shirt and sacrificed his own life to save hers. She
> couldn't see her beloved Mr Placy anywhere in the water but prayed
> that he had also found some broken furniture to hold onto. She
> shivered and pulled the white shirt around her, shedding a tear for the
> fate of poor tragic Lieutenant Barkingside and thinking how devastated
> Serafina would be when she learned the news.
>
> The calls for help from the survivors had all now died away and an
> eerie silence fell over the water, broken only by the sound of
> Katherina von Varbling-Bärbi (who had somehow found the time to change
> into a different pink evening dress) singing "Nearer my God to
> Thee","Do not stand at my grave and weep" and "Always look on
> the bright side of life"
Typically bloody inappropriate
>
> It was difficult for Miss Donna to determine the precise moment when
> Miss Varbling-Bärbi stopped singing and started screaming as it all
> seemed to blend into one.
LOL
The cause of her terror was the sudden
> appearance of six large sharks heading straight for the unfortunate
> Andrea Senzatalento, who was flailing about in the water, defiantly
> clinging onto life. Miss Donna was squeamish and turned away, unable
> to watch what happened next. On the other side of her makeshift raft
> she noticed Marshall Allwood who was still alive and seemed to have a
> natural talent for staying afloat.
> "Are you alright?" her cousin asked her, "You look quite deathly
> pale"
> "I thank you , I am well" she replied, "I just can't bear to
> watch Signor Senzatalento being torn to pieces by those sharks,
> that's all. I just pray that his death will be mercifully quick"
> "So that he won't suffer longer than necessary?"
> "No, so that he won't have time to sing a really long dying aria
> first"
>
Ooh what a bitch!
It's the way he would have wanted to go!
> "What a handsome corpse" she thought as she gently draped a jacked
> over his head
>
> Suddenly she noticed the figure of a man walking towards her along the
> beach. Although he was two hundred metres away she could make out an
> unbuttoned white flouncy shirt and an impressive display of chest hair.
> "Plascliff!" she cried, running towards him as fast as she could.
> Moments later she was in his arms, holding him tightly and locked in a
> passionate embrace,
> "Finally I've found you, my beloved" she sobbed, "And no-one
> will separate us ever again!"
> "My darling Donna" he sighed, clasping her against his chest
>
> But as she went to kiss him again he was suddenly seized by a violent
> coughing fit and sank to his knees in the sand,
> "My God, what's wrong?" she asked in alarm
> "I think I need a doctor" he gasped, noticing the spots of blood
> on his handkerchief.
>
> Donna looked around her in a panic and saw that her cousin had just
> caught up with them.
> "Mr Allwood!" she shouted, "Don't just stand around doing
> nothing - you have to act!"
Ah, so cruel!!
> "But I have no idea what to do" he confessed
> "You must act at once!" she pleaded, "Quickly - go and see if
> you can find a doctor"
>
> Five minutes later Mr Allwood returned, bringing with him Fernando
> Ibrowzgón. The young man had gone down with the ship and survived,
> but being in the water for so long had caused his breeches to shrink
> and they were now extremely tight.
I say
Miss Donna glanced up at him,
> "You're a doctor?" she asked, surprised
> "I have a PhD in media studies" he replied, "But I'll do my
> best to help"
> "It is useless, I am dying" gasped Mr Placy, "Alas, I'll never
> see my beloved Mexican homeland or the beautiful beaches of Acapulco"
> "You're from Acapulco too?" asked Mr Ibrowzgón.
> "Yes, but I was kidnapped by gypsies and brought to England as a
> child"
>
> Mr Ibrowzgón looked at him in astonishment for a moment,
> "Forgive what may sound like a foolish question, sir" Mr
> Ibrowzgón asked, "But do you by any chance have a strawberry birth
> mark under your chest hair?"
But how could anyone see what was under his chest hair...?
Swear words
> EPILOGUE
>
> After the disaster Miss Donna Jay-Bennet went to Mexico with Mr
> Fernando Ibrowzgón. Two years later she came out of mourning and
> married Mr Placy's younger brother on a beach in Acapulco in a
> beautiful wedding ceremony, accompanied by a symphony orchestra.
Well, at least it wasn't a bloody Caribbean beach. But she wanted a
smutty elopement with Mr Plascliff, not a marriage with Mini-Me
Mr
> and Mrs Brinley decided to leave the tropical island after they
> discovered it was a rather dangerous place to live and there were no
> pies there. They crossed over the Atlantic and returned home to North
> Wales where they lived happily together in a new house that Mr Brinley
> had built in the middle of the road. Miss Serafina took an instant
> liking to the dark brooding Norwegian captain of the SS Ikea who had
> rescued her. She caused something of a scandal by running off with
> him, even though her husband Lieutenant Barkingside was officially
> still classed as missing and presumed dead.
>
> Nobody knows what happened to Mr Gabriel Pinhead after the SS Europa
> sank. The Jay-Bennet family hoped that he had perished but lived with
> the anxiety that at any time he might suddenly re-appear and cause
> trouble when they were least expecting it. Miss Katherina von
> Varbling-Bärbi released an award-winning album of songs she had sung
> as the ship was sinking, entitled 'Living a nightmare'. She
> eventually found love again with Marshall Allwood and married him a
> year later, only to be tragically struck down by a fatal allergic
> reaction caused by wearing too much eye makeup.
I trust the funeral was well attended, just to make sure...
>
> Miss Sherry gave birth to a son in pain and sorrow such as no woman had
> ever suffered. Following her sister Donna's advice she named him
> Russell Senzatalento - and although he never quite became the
> greatest tenor in the world then he certainly inherited his father's
> unbelievable high notes and amazing talent for being able to project
> his voice so that it could be heard five metres away without
> amplification. Miss Sherry never stopped mourning her beloved Andrea
> but took comfort in the belief that he was certainly up there among the
> choirs of angels, singing all the tenor solos and making heaven a
> better place.
>
> THE END
>
> ***
>
> Mrs T xx
>
La Donna Mobile
alanwa...@aol.com
Mrs Jones wrote:
> A true epic. Bravo indeed!
>
> Mrs J
Given the authors (unless you are doing a George Eliot thing) I believe
that should be Brava although one can never be certain on this list.
As a sort of aside the musicians on the real Titanic went out, I
suppose, with one of the greatest playouts of all time if accounts are
to be believed.
They were commemorated in a plaque at the Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool,
and I remember explaining same to members of the Prague Radio Symphony
at our gig there some years ago. (Titanic not big in Czechoslovakia).
At the time, it was in the corridor from the Musicians Room to the
stage so members of the public would never have seen it.
When the building was refurbished and after considerable pressure from
the Musicians Union the plaque was moved from backstage corridor to
just inside the entrance doors where members of the public "might"
notice it or not as the case may be.
For the record they were:
In Memoriam
W. Theodore Brailey
Roger Bricoux
John Frederick P. Clarke
Wallace Hartley
John Law Hume
George Krins
Percy C. Taylor
J. Wesley Woodward
John Frederick P. Clarke (Fred) was on his first pro gig, aged 19.
The family of Wallace Hartley (concertmaster/leader/conductor) was
billed after his death for the loss of his White Star Line uniform as
he stupidly drowned and ruined it.
They were all freelances of course.
The White Star Line thought they should get money for their lost
uniform and Mr Handelman thinks he should get money for his clandestine
recordings.
When you think about it, not a lot changes although I suspect there may
be a common denominator.
Kind regards,
Alan M. Watkins
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile wrote:
> Cut to the quick - did Miss Donna get to go down?
>
I don't know - we're still waiting for you to write us some more about
the smutty goings-on in Mr Placy's cabin that night!
Mrs Txx
Mrs T xx
alanwa...@aol.com wrote:
>>
> As a sort of aside the musicians on the real Titanic went out, I
> suppose, with one of the greatest playouts of all time if accounts are
> to be believed.
>
When I watch the film "Titanic" then it's that bit when the violinist
starts playing that I always start crying.
Can anyone tell me what the bit of music is they're playing in the film
at that moment?
I think it's a hymn but am not sure which one.
Mrs T xx
La Donna Mobile
You know, I have got writer's block on this one. Perhaps as a result of
having been genuinely within fondling distance of genuine chest hair and
not even realised...
alanwa...@aol.com
Tradition has it that it was Nearer, my God to Thee - originally to
music by the American composer Lowell Mason (composer of about 1600
hymn tunes and the man who introduced music into American schools) but
also set by Arthur Sullivan and his tune was the far more popular in
England and, of course, he was an "all the rage" composer in the
period. If it was Sullivan the tune is Propior Deo.
Hartley was buried in his home town of Colne, Lancashire, where there
is a monument to him. Over 40,000 people lined the route of the
funeral procession and seven bands led the cortege.
No one knows for sure but it is known that, along with O God our Help
in Ages Past it was a favourite hymn tune of Mr Hartley and was played
at his funeral (his body, still in his now completely ruined uniform,
was recovered a fortnight after the event). It has subsequently been
played at funerals of members of the Musicians Union in the UK to my
certain knowledge.
This link may interest you:
http://www.hartleyfamily.org.uk/Fame2SZ.htm